Bleed your heart out
Writing has been one of the few things that I have enjoyed doing since childhood.
Writing and poetry both show the reader an authors state of mind, a vulnerability that many people take advantage of when they criticize an author for their works.
But if you took the time to write something down, to view the draft and then commit to submitting it, then you did what most people don't do.
You created something, and we need to view a lot of the things that we see online as that, creations. Manifestations of an author that many of us will never know fully and will never meet. We only see a small section of what a person allows us to see.
For me, my personal journey in writing started relatively early.
I remember my mother suddenly being called over by my primary school professor, who enthusiastically told her that I was a great writer. We had gone to the library, as we usually did every weekend to grab some books for me to read, it was a routine that I very much enjoyed. Inclusively, that I try to emulate with my kids now.
I was 8 years old then, and I would write whatever was on my mind, I was writing (bad) poems even then. the stories were arguably worse than my poems, however.
Still, at the time, my professor chuckled and told my mother that the short story that I had written for a grade was hilarious. I don't remember what I wrote then.
All of this to show that writing was a part of my character. For better or for worse.
Motivation is a currency that I am severely lacking in, especially in writing.
I have days where I may be motivated and I'll write and sketch and sing and dance all at once. It gets extinguished however, and it all gets put away afterwards, and I won't entertain that side of me for months to come.
Having a blog has helped me commit to something for once, for more than just a glimpse of a second.
Something that we all seem to have a problem in doing. There are many of us who will never finish projects that we started working on enthusiastically. The motivation fizzles and we leave things half baked, because we never reached the perfection that we had in our minds.
It's funny how life works. Now, I enjoy seeing my own children try to write. As a parent, you see them focus intensely and scribble on a paper furiously and you can't help but smile, as you remember what it was like to be a child.
The world was so interesting then. Everything was worth pursuing.
My eldest right now pretends to make books, folding the paper in half and scribbling on the insides while making a drawn cover.
It's the cutest thing ever, and it makes me wonder if she'll one day pursue writing when she's older.
Well anyway to conclude:
You can write about anything and still not draw attention. You can scribble your thoughts down and hide a journal under your bed.
Insanity, joy, rage. All of your emotions can translate into a page, to be read again and again, nobody else will know what you have done until they begin to read what you have put down on that paper.
You can be brave and allow someone to see your state of mind, give them a glimpse of your happenings when you allow them to read what you have written.
And so my personal dilemma begins, I love writing, but I loathe my own writing. I loathe showing others my scripts, and, in extent, my poetry. I loathe when I get commentary, as we all do. However, I never let it get to me.
I'm doing this for me, not for anyone else.
I speak two languages fluently and growing up, that meant that I wasn't very good at writing in either. I had to put the work in for both, and I had to read books in both in order to avoid being mediocre in either.
But how does this translate to my blog?
I seriously considered not posting my poetry in the beginning, and I have days where I want to delete all of my posts entirely.
My blog is this personal battle of not wanting attention or to be seen, but also wanting to post your thoughts to a site that is truly yours.
Poetry that is often personal. Writing that translates to a short train of thought that you may have had in that moment of clarity from a head full of noise.
All of this to show you a reflection of who the reader really is, especially, if the reader decides to not hold back.
I just want a site that says this is me, this is what part of my soul looks like. A virtual manifestation of who I am.
I noticed something though: that all of the fear, it's all in my head. Nobody actually cares. And, in reminding myself of this, I allow myself to put my thoughts on virtual paper.
If I stop to think about recent events, of recent unwanted attention, I stop writing. But that wasn't the point of my blog in the first place, the point was about what I wanted to do, not what others think of me.
And, there's nothing quite like delving into a story or a thought that you want to scribble down and actually commit to.