Why I Write
… and how I made myself comfortable on Medium
Creativity is akin to breathing for me, be it words or art, or a garden, or a meal. It is part of whatever I do. My mythology shines through everything, including my writing. But whereas I don’t care what people think about how I dress, how I choose to plant my garden, or decorate my home, writing is different. Why?
I am not the only one. I have realised that so many people are insecure about their writing. Just look at Medium. There are so many stories of fear of failure, imposter syndrome, etc. These writers, crippled with self-doubt, are often those whose stories shine with life.
Although I make art and write, I don’t feel like I have any big message I want to get out there. This is just one thing that makes me feel like a fraud.
Over the years, I have had the odd stories, poems and articles published. I have degrees and diplomas and an unfinished novel. None of these qualifies me as any form of writer with a Capital W.
So I feel like a fraud. I want to write because I love doing it, and if other people like it, that’s an added extra. But I also want the capital W!
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about why I write. What do I want to do with my writing? This internal dialogue came to the fore when I joined Medium as a writer.
As a new blogger here, Medium felt like a pretty cold and lonely place. By day two, I just wanted to hide in my bed with my head under the covers. A childhood refuge that I never gave up.
I read some stories about fear. I read a lot about how to write to get noticed and gain followers. Mostly, these stories leave me cold. I like the stories about people doing what they love. I want to read stories of people conquering their demons and fighting the dragons that perish their dreams.
I searched for topics that interested me. I learned how to tweak my reading recommendations here.
I spent days reading all kinds of stories and following links to other stories. Medium became a little warmer. Then I found a tag for new writers. I searched through pages of articles, and I discovered some gems. Like Berthran Benaiah, who I wrote about in a previous story.
Now, I see my Medium page as a space where I have the freedom to do what I want.
Jean-Paul Sartre said that freedom bears the pain of responsibility. How true this is.
My responsibility as a writer is to me. I want to let my writing flow wherever I need it to go. I want to write without doubt or self-judgement.
I want to write about the things I love and my responses to the world around me. I want to use my writing to explore my passions and fears and examine the feelings that certain things evoke.
- Why do I feel at my best and happiest in winter?
- Why does the smell of a paperback book make me feel safe?
- Why does the sight of a naked tree against a stormy sky fill me with joy, yet a blue sky and a tree in leaf don’t do it for me?
- Stuff like that.
So, I am going to play. I want to share poetry and short stories. I want to get over my fear of rejection by unknown people hanging out in cyberspace.
I want to write until my words bleed out over the page, new and raw and alive.
Whatever we write, be it a memoir, novel or an article on how to unblock a sink. When we write from the heart, our story shines through.
I will write stuff that makes me cringe a few hours later. I will wring out words that want to stay safe in their wet rag. The rag that mopped up all the tough stains left by painful memories.
I will write daft poems.
I will write about things that scare me.
I will respond to fellow writers.
I will write for me.
Word by word, I will let my story shine through.
Article by Timpoa. To read more of her work go here:
