I write. Therefore I am a writer.

writing

What is it to be a writer? I know that the written language is both one of my gifts and also an outlet for me. Putting thoughts on paper has brought me sanity and peace at moments in my life when it seemed nothing else could. It comes so naturally. However, it does not always come easily. Only in those moments when there is some emotion that I have to pour out does writing come so easily and naturally. Whether it is grief, frustration, or the inspiration of love, the need to deal with my emotions causes writing to become more of a necessity, a coping mechanism. All love and happiness is best rejoiced and celebrated with eloquently spoken words. Even the most heartbreaking of life events can aspire to be at least inspirational when put to a poet’s sonnet. And that is how I deal with life. That is how I paint myself a picture of a beautiful world full of hope and dreams. This is how I know it is one of my gifts. It is just too much a part of me to not be. More often than not, though, it seems I have to pretty much force myself to write. Maybe this has always been the case. Maybe over the years of pursing dreams and working on goals, I have kept myself busy with things that DID require me to write frequently and research and think, primarily during all my time spent in school.

These days I have to force it, I have to make time for it and consider my topics all on my own. Pure self drive is the only thing that keeps me writing. I have no classes that require me to write out well researched and articulated theories and ideas. I am not so lucky to have any pressing deadlines because I have never had any type of job as a writer. I have no schooling that affords me the title of someone who writes as a career. I make myself write because it is the creative link between what is inside me and the rest of the world. I don’t always know what I’m going to write about, what path my writing will take from start to finish, or where it will even end up. Probably most of the time, I don’t know these things. My writing normally starts with an idea, a simple observation that my mind takes off with on a tangent. I feel the need to go with it and write it out, and by the time it’s all done, I have a collection of well thought out and flowing ideas that lead to a greater conclusion or new understanding. That is what’s hoped for, at least.

The main problem is making the time for it. In writing this, I looked up on the internet the phrase “making time”. Of course, a million different things came up: making time for rest and romance in your relationship; making time for your friends; making time for family; making time for yoga; making time for exercise; making time for you.  It just so happens that all of these things to first appear on my browser are actually things that I’m pretty good at making time for. This did help to reinforce the idea though that apparently I am not alone in my inability to consistently make time for some of the things that are most important to me; in this case, my creative outlet.

So, here we go. What does it mean to be a writer? Well, I suppose it simply means that you write. Whether it’s any good or not is up to opinion. Whether it’s read by others or not does nothing to change the fact that the words and ideas were produced. To be acknowledged as a writer is only to let other people in, to let them read what you have put into words. As with any gift, it only shows it’s true potential and beauty if you share it with the rest of the world. So, I will endeavor to put my need to make time for this thing that makes me feel both whole and connected. I will attempt to not be afraid of criticism. I will try to even stop caring what other people may think of my writing. Instead, I will ask myself how it makes me feel to write the words. I will only focus on my pure joy and love of it and my need for it., for these are the things that make me a writer. I shall share this passion with the world and if it that passion spreads and inspires, then wonderful. If not, then oh, well. It is a piece of me put into words on paper, and it always will be.

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