Write about writing
The 500 Words
Write about writing? Haven’t I done enough of that already?
Why do I write? Simple, I have a story to tell and verbal storytelling just is
not my strong suit. Writing is how I connect with the rest of the world. By
talking about my experiences, feelings, heartache, desires, failures, etc. I
open up my soul to my audience and share my strengths and vulnerabilities. It
makes me more human. Not to say that I’m not human, but the basic idea of
expressing my emotions is something that I’m never really thrilled about.
It’s hard.
I don’t purposely shy away from hard things, but this is
hard because I rarely have the words to express myself (oh, the irony!). I
don’t know how. It makes me uncomfortable. I feel insecure. I feel weak. I feel
helpless. I feel misunderstood. I feel alone.
Writing for me is a double-edged sword. I love telling the story;
I don’t mind helping them express themselves, because I know it isn’t me saying
those words. Even though it is, it isn’t.
It also serves as a form of wish fulfillment. If I’m feeling
a lack of love in my life, I simply write my own love story. My main characters
are usually some kind of variation of me, and then I create my leading man.
Many of you already know that Boston Mansfield (the leading
man in my novel Lindsey, Not Perfect)
is my dream guy. Even now, I’m really not sure how the idea of him came to be.
He was simply an idea that didn’t stop progressing. Even now, I’m writing the
companion novel (Just Boston) from
his point of view and telling his story, and he’s still pretty amazing. How did
I dream up someone like him?
He kind of makes Lindsey Bennett look like a control freak.
Their contrast in thinking actually compliments their relationship as friends
and as a couple. But for real, even I read through my paragraphs sometimes and
wonder why he loves her. I guess that’s my own insecurities making sure that I
know that they’re still there.
Why doesn’t she deserve a guy like him? Why can’t she just
let herself be happy? She doesn’t think she deserve him. I guess that speak
volumes about me, am I right?
Writing is so frustrating, mostly because more than half the
time I don’t know what to say. I’m not perfect. I’m so far from perfect that I’m
not even in the same city. There are times when I’m bold and confident enough
to venture into the same zip code, but it usually doesn’t last very long. Maybe
I write to feel a little bit more complete. Maybe I write to be heard. Maybe it’s
because I want to feel, and that’s the best way to control the intensity.
I don’t know why I write. To better connect with the world
around me? I guess that means I’m doing a bang-up job. Or not. I don’t really
know.
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