Why I Write

Writing is my passion; always has been, always will be. There’s something ethereal when words are put together, woven like an abstract yet well-thought of tapestry. The way words seem to have a flow when put together wittingly will always be a cause of my amazement. Reading thousands of books have enlarged not only my vocabulary, but my imagination, as well. I’ve encountered too many talented writers that pour their hearts and souls into their works, and I want to be one of them—-badly. I used to be impressed by writers who are able to write mighty long novels, but as time passed, I have learned to categorize the different kinds. Not all writers are artists, not all artists are writers, but I aim to be both. Writers write, artists express—-I want to write, and express myself, too. I believe there’s a thin line between the two that commoners often misunderstand, and only a few writers get to cross that line, that boundary. 

At times, I try too hard to come up with something new, with something fresh, and with something untouched before, just to make a difference. Where does it lead me? Nowhere. I have always wanted to write something as big as Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen), Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling), and Sophie’s World (Jostein Gaardner), or even something in the lines of The Perks of a Wallflower(Stephen Chovsky), Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte), or Diary (Chuck Palahniuk). I’m dreaming big, anyway, so why not dream the biggest? Because of my selfish wants, and greedy dreams, I tend to go back to square one from time to time. What started as a dream when I was 10, is still a dream now, and I’m turning 23 in 3 days. It’s frustrating to realize that I wasted 12, almost 13 years of my life, wanting to make that difference, but not really trying hard enough. 

That smell of old, crispy paper from old hard-bound books speaks of great volumes of what once transpired in the realms of the past, something that can never be brought back. Those old written words that came from a time wherein the world was more peaceful, boasting of pride and sense, are just one of the things that push me to write more. Time is moving, and it’s moving fast. With all the trends that come and go, books remain what they are: sources of anything and really, everything. I would not want to be erased and forgotten completely in the future. What better way to leave a legacy, than to make a book? Not just any book, but a book with bursting essence, and written with a sincere heart. I imagine finishing something that would be passed on from generation to generation, and would be of great importance, eventually. It wouldn’t matter if I would live up to that moment, but I’m more particular in making it just for the sake of actually making it just in time. 

I want to write through experience, having my own life as a basis, and a guide just so I would stay grounded. Realistic, more like. I want my future readers to find solace in things that I deliver on paper. I can only do so much, but I want to give it my best shot. I always put myself in others’ shoes whenever I write. How would I, as a stranger, feel if I would read this? Would I be able to feel the emotions that I, as the writer, want to convey? Would the words be of reason, of truth, and of reality? Would the flow of my thoughts be easily followed or easily dismissed? Would the quality of my work be remembered as time goes by, or would it be one of those read-and-never-read-again works? 

I often find myself lost in my dreams, and I despise myself for procrastinating for too long. What is it that I’m afraid of? Honestly, I’m afraid of not finding that idea, that plot. I’m scared of starting a story that I would invest on, only to fail in the end. I’m losing my wits just thinking of making that first step, writing that first word, and finishing that first sentence. I have overanalyzed probable criticisms, the occasional downers, the pessimists. I try to brush the negativity, that is already present given that I haven’t even started yet, aside. I have been made sturdy by experience, and time, but somehow, I feel weak realizing that I might not be able to succeed in the end. 

I want to be able to touch my future readers’ souls, to reach into that unknown abyss that their minds are capable of reaching, to make them read more, to impart my hard-earned lessons so that they could learn from it, too. I want to be able to push the right buttons, to inspire, to build bridges for invisible yet penetrating gaps, to make them thirst for more motivation. I want to be able to open their minds, to offer them a new opportunity, to put them on the edge of making a change, too. I want them to find the bliss from reading in the same manner I found it. I want them to discover a new beginning that only books can offer. 

I know that looking at my educational background, a few eyebrows would raise. A registered nurse, suddenly wanting to pursue her writing career, is not really of Summit Media’s best interest, but I’m taking my rightfully owned shot. I have a lot to learn, and I have a lot to share, too. I am offering my services with an open heart, a sound soul, and a sincere intention. I’m not being arrogant when I say I’m a persistent worker. I’m not being conceited when I say I’m a risk-taker, and I’m not being self-righteous when I say I’m a fast learner. I just know that I am all those three, and if I have to sell my own attributes just to be able to start working on that dream, I would. 

Writing is my passion; always has been, always will be. It could be my mantra, for all I know, but I’m still focusing on that dream. It may be far-fetched as of now, seeing my credibility as a writer, but I believe that it’s never too late to start something you’ve always believed in. I’m taking my chances, starting at the bottom, grabbing the opportunity, and not wasting another day. If this is really written in the stars, or in God’s master plan, I say it with full conviction that my dream will, in its right time, turn into a reality.