When I first started writing, I did not think it would become a passion of mine. I never thought it would go this far. At the time I just needed an outlet for my feelings and thoughts because talking was not an option for me. It’s hard for me to talk about my emotions because they overwhelm me. Something about writing helps me to grasp a hold of them and manage them. It’s easier to communicate through writing than talking. Having my emotions and thoughts visual on paper or a computer screen helps me sort through them. I’m a visual person/leaner so I need to see or envision things in order to think most effectively. Now I have gotten better at communicating verbally and I think writing plays a role in that. It calms my thought process so I’m not left speechless and/or wanting to say 20 sentences at once.
I write based on feeling. When I feel the intense urge to write, I stop whatever I’m doing to write. I do not force myself to write but I do challenge myself. The goal is to keep writing as much of a free-flowing process as I can, that’s what makes it fun. If I feel like I am forcing it, it feels like work that I am not even getting paid to do. Writing for myself first and others second is what keeps me engaged. Getting too wrapped up in thinking about what other people want or their thoughts takes away from enjoying the craft. When I started writing I never had the intention of sharing it with other people. This helped me to give myself space to relax and figure out what I was doing in terms of writing. Having guidance and feedback is great but I believe that you need to have an idea of what you want to with your writing to maintain yourself as a writer. Maintaining who you are as a writer is what makes your pieces uniquely yours and not the cloned products of other people’s work. This belief could also be applied to other interests and activities.
As I mentioned before, I did not intend or want people to read my writing pieces. I kept the pieces of loose leaf folded and hidden at the back of a reading book behind a set of other books on my bookcase. As the number of papers grew, I got a binder to hold them. I kept this binder hidden under my bed. Eventually I finally decided to get a journal. I didn’t commit to a journal before this point because I didn’t think I would commit to writing since I did it randomly. Journaling daily is a habit that I never liked, it made writing seem forced. Without putting too much pressure on myself, I wrote more often and finished the book. I still keep my journals hidden in desk drawers or between other books. Sometimes if it feels like it is going to be a long piece, I type it up on my laptop. Even on my laptop I keep my work hidden. The names I gave the file folders are misleading so only I know where to find my writing pieces that’s not related to schoolwork. You may be wondering why I go to such extremes to hide my work. Well In the words of Erykah Badu “I am sensitive about my shit.” They show a different side of me because that is the only place my vulnerability fully comes out. Each piece of work is like a puzzle piece to myself. The idea is to keep them hidden from people because showing vulnerability is a concept I am still learning. Yes, I know I am possibly being unnecessarily paranoid but I don’t care. I do things on my terms. I do let some people read some of my work and now I will let people on the internet read some of my stuff.
One of the people who I share some of my work with is my friend Quashon. He writes too and has some published work out. He recently wrote a series of poems called, “Whatever Happens, Happens.” After I read it the phrase just kept repeating itself in my head which was a signal that I needed to write about it. That night I wrote it and sent it to him to read. He created it into the above picture (If you cannot read through the picture, I wrote it out at the end of this post). Seeing my work created into something like that was wild to me. I am only used to seeing my writing on paper and a computer screen and hidden away from people. I just kept staring at it like, “Those are my words. That’s my piece.” He said he created it because it seems like something to be put on Tumblr. It was at that moment I decide to finally create a blog because for once in my life I wanted to show my writing to the public. I wanted to create a blog for years and people have told me to make one. It took this long because I didn’t know what to write about. I was still finding my voice and trying to figure out myself. I didn’t even consider myself a writer even though I was cranking out pieces as if my livelihood depended on it. Now I am in a better place and I am ready to share at least some of my work with others. So, I’m a writer who now has a blog.
What is something that you have been putting off but can’t stop thinking about? What is stopping you from doing it? When you figure out what has been stopping you, think of ways that you can get pass those things and do what you to do. Keep in mind, all of this may not happen overnight. Devote as much time as you can toward it. I hope that you share it with at least one person and not keep it hidden.
Whatever happens, happens
I stopped fighting and shrugged my shoulders. Then repeated what you said, “whatever happens, happens.” But what did happen after that? What happened to us? Well, we faded away from each other and I moved on with my life. Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to you. I had let go of you since you never really seem to have held onto me. I couldn’t keep holding on and trying with someone who didn’t see eternity with me
“Whatever happens, happens,” you said every time I asked, “what are we doing?” I was the only one trying to make whatever we had actually happen. Trying to communicate while you just shut me out. Attempting to understand as things got more complicated. Trying to see us but you just saw whatever. You didn’t work to make us happen so it was really just whatever to you.
Whatever isn’t a commitment, it’s an empty promise. It’s shallow, it lacks depth. It a vague and ambiguous concept, it’s not clear and visible. It waits for others to give it meaning, it can’t foster its own relevance and significance. In most cases, whatever stays at one-point cause it has no sense of direction.
Can you believe that I was actually willing to be whatever for you? It’s a good thing that didn’t happened.