Ever since I could spell my name I’ve loved to write. I’d write stories set in whimsical lands, vignettes about character’s adventures, magazines made from flimsy folded A4 paper, you name it. A stash of notebooks mounted, most left unfinished as my mind wondered into another creative realm. My chaotic childish mind was buzzing with ideas.
Then I started college and my writing became stifled. I quickly went from scrawling in notebooks to fervently typing on Twitter. Years pass by and I’m in University. My passion for writing subsided as my coursework towered. I guess you could stay I still have to be creative, being an English Literature student and all. Yet, aside from the odd classic, the books are dry and the essays are drier. I did enrol in a creative writing class for one semester. However, I think anything you do creatively shouldn’t be confined within due dates, and this is what I struggled with. The weekly deadlines put a strain on my writing.
Exam revision substituted my wondrous ideas. Essays analysing 18th-century Spanish tragedies substituted my fantastical time travelling stories. Writing solely became a means of attaining a decent grade. Once submitted, aside from drawing a line through my list of deadlines, I lacked the motivation to pick up a pen. As much as I am enjoying my university experience, the writing side of it brings me little joy.
The final year of my degree is approaching and thoughts about finding a graduate job are lingering. Some say that ‘the arts’ won’t lead to success. So, writing and any type of creative pursuit is a waste of time, right? Should I thwart my childhood ambitions of being a published author or set aside my interests in pursuing a publishing career? Instead, should I pour hours into a monotonous job and board meetings? Ultimately, why dedicate time to frivolities such as journaling when there are more productive things I could be doing?
However, the realisation that I was stuck in the same busy coursework-filled cycle hit me. Where’s the joy in it all? Last year is when I started journaling again, putting pen to paper and relishing in the freedom of writing. However, I wanted to create more of a motivation for myself.
In June 2018 I bit the bullet, bought my domain name and started my blog. Since then, I’ve written more than I did in the last five years (2000 word essays aside). Spare moments are dedicated to writing. My day starts with a to-do list and ends with a paragraph or a few pages worth of momentary musings. I experience sporadic bursts of inspiration which jolt me awake, quickly jotting ideas down on whatever’s nearest before losing them to a sleepy haze. Creativity does come and go, but I can’t keep the bubbling urge to write at bay, even if it is gibberish 75% of the time.
But why do I write? Why do I give myself the added pressure of uploading regularly on my blog?
Writing is a way of offloading niggling thoughts. If something is pressing on my mind, writing allows me to see things more clearly.
Writing is a way of commemorating the minutiae of the day-to-day. Life can be hectic, so logging a podcast I enjoyed on my way to work or a particular dessert I devoured one afternoon is the perfect way to treasure those little trivial details that can be so easily lost in a mind of deadlines and to-do lists.
Writing is a way of unwinding. Scribbling down lists, thoughts, fears; it keeps my anxiety at bay.
Writing is something I can do no matter how old I get, even if I’m too weak to do much else.
Writing gives me the opportunity to have an impact. If I didn’t write, my legacy would whittle down to having gained a couple of hundred likes on Instagram and a well-curated Netflix library. I want to share my ramblings with the world even if only a minuscule percentage of it stumbles upon them.
Writing is a way of connecting with others. It could be sharing the same adoration for a historical fiction novel or having a heart-to-heart about something closer to home. Nothing makes me happier than receiving genuine, thoughtful comments when someone has enjoyed or felt inspired by a post. Even if what I share resonates with one person, the feeling is unmatched.
And writing gives me freedom. I write for myself. I write because I need to. There’s nothing quite like devising new ideas in the early hours of the morning when it feels like there is no one else in the world.
I believe writing is an admirable and often underestimated passion. There’s nothing quite like it. And for that reason, I’ll always write.
Thanks for reading