Writing has been an important part of my life ever since I could hold a pencil in my hands. In my closet I have a large box filled with journals and diaries that span nearly my entire life. It is something that just comes so very naturally. My words, my thoughts, my wishes, my hopes, my fears, everything has been written about. Journaling and blogging are very different mediums with a shared underlying current: expression.
We write to express ourselves.
Any writer will tell you that writing is a blessing and a curse all in a single swift attempt to plink your fingers across the keys of your keyboard. Hands poised, nervously tapping on the island of letters, you attempt to begin a piece that will express what is true in your heart, what you wish others to know, what you wish to solidify in your own mind. But like a nervous child inching away from a cold water pool with no known depth, your fingers begin to inch away as well. Even worse, your inner voice is hushed and backs away. That voice is timid of the judgment that accompanies the void that you are writing to. Without that voice, you have no words.
Writing is fearsome, overwhelming, cathartic, and joyous.
The numerous amount of occasions that I have spent staring idly at the computer screen, the flashing of that little symbol signifying where I am typing calls out to me the heckles that damper my ideas and my words, is great and is only second to the amount of times that I erase the sentences that I have constructed, unhappy with the words, the tone, the symbols that I used to represent what is deep down in my belly. Sometimes there are no words to describe what you are going through, what you are feeling, what you have seen, or what you want.
Press on, love. No matter how many drafts.
Despite the fear, despite the doubt, despite everything that tells you that you are not of value to write the things that flow and pirouette through your inner being that fuel the very soul that you won, you press on. Timidly, of course. A word here, an anecdote there, sprinkling of you and a dash of truth ends the recipe for a piece of prose. The truth is the best topic to write on. Notice, it is not the easiest. But it is the one that will reach out from the other side of the computer screen to the person reading it. Those 26 letters in the English alphabet are no longer mere symbols and building blocks, but a hand that can reach out across the globe and wipe a tear from a far away friend’s eyes, inspire a struggling individual, or bring comfort.
Discourse is infinite.
While I sit in the middle of the floor of my sparsely decorated apartment, I mull over my experience as a writer (am I really one? Sometimes I own the title, sometimes I shyly avoid eye contact with it like the wallflower that I am). I stumbled upon an opportunity to enter in a writing contest at my university and believe that I will be entering, which is both nerve wracking and exhilarating. I have shown some of my short stories on this blog, all of which were the first that I have ever let another soul read. I think that it is time for my voice to be heard by many.
I think it is time to share with the world the talent that is inherent to my very being.
It is time to share the beauty of my 26 letters.