Why Write?

Lately, my friends have been telling me that the things I write feel forced. When I’m writing a supposedly fictional scene, the characters feel like bubbles with existential crisis floating in the middle of nowhere, talking to each other like intellectual dweebs.

It hurt. It hurt pretty bad.

However, they say that every cloud has a silver lining.

And so, I backed away from the project I was working on with them. I wasn’t being honest to the story to begin with. I just didn’t want to miss out, because the way they talked about it, it sounded pretty awesome. It still is, and it always will be as long as it has awesome authors like them.

I began writing because there was always this voice at the back of my head. It was loud, yes, but there was no way to get it out of the soundproof barrier that was my head. I began writing because I think I have things worth sharing, things worth letting the world know, knowledge worth spreading, as insignificant as it might be. I began writing because I felt it was my duty to show the world what I’ve learned in the seventeen years that I’ve lived. I still write for that reason.

One would think you can write about pretty much anything and everything. I felt that way too. But it is only now that I realize, I was wrong.

I can only write about things that affect me on a personal level. Perhaps about the things I learned when my parents got divorced? Or when I had to bear the humiliation of the entire class for helping my friend stage a fraud? Yes. If I wrote about these things I would sound sane. And coherent.

When I try to write things that I don’t care about enough to affect my decisions, my writing sounds choppy and forced. One of the reasons some people prefer first-person narration over third-person. In the past few months, I feel like I’ve turned that free voice into a caged bird.

Writing is a craft. To some extent. Before that, it is a form of communication. As Stephen King puts it in On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, it is a form of telepathy.

My goal now is to regain that voice at the back of my head. Trying to get it to say things has failed me. I think It’s angry at me.

Why do you write?

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Author: anankhan98

When I close my eyes, I see myself as a writer. I see a pale blank page in front of me and feel a solid pen in my hand. I feel inspiration flowing through me, hear the words being whispered in my ears, ready to be written. And I see myself writing them. So, I write. And that is why I am here right now. To let the world know that I want to become better at this. That there is this unbelievably naive living in this corner of the world, who wants to have people help her become the best she can become. My focus is actually on fiction. I dream up stories in my sleep, literally. And I can't help but want to write them. Knowing English only as a second language is a drawback, though. I still try.

9 thoughts on “Why Write?”

  1. I once watched this video that discussed acting and a quote from it that really stuck out for me and that came into my head as I read this post is “you have to speak naturally and comfortably in your own voice before you can do it in someone else’s”. And I think that applies to writing too! I’ve started blogging to try and figure out what voice fits for me and it is exciting to find blogs like yours that are practicing writing in their own voices 🙂 Looking forward to reading your posts throughout Writing101!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your question reminded me of a poem I wrote a couple of years ago:

    Writing, writing, writing
    Why do I write?
    To embrace the secrets of my inner self?
    To shout my ideas to the world?
    To really see what’s right before me?
    To document details of my daily journey?
    Or play make-believe with alternative worlds?

    Writing, writing, writing
    An insatiable drive
    A playful diversion
    Synthesizing research and playing with words
    Connecting with friends while alone in my room
    A scavenger hunt with thesaurus in hand
    Will the perfect phrase reveal itself
    Among the interplay of parallel words?

    Writing, writing, writing
    It’s the marrow of my psyche
    It’s my breath of inner peace
    It’s the blood of my energy
    It’s the battle cry for passion
    And the hymn that lulls me to sleep.

    Writing, writing, writing
    Sometimes writing for others
    Sometimes just for me
    Sometimes words thrown to an empty void
    Writing, writing, writing
    Sirens I cannot resist
    Enticing me to write
    A story with no end

    Liked by 1 person

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