To me, writing is magic. No matter what I am writing about, I am taken to a world where the impossible is possible and the imagination comes alive. Just putting one word in front of the other fills me with wonder. And the idea of creating something from nothing, whether or not others read it, is amazing to me.
There are times when I feel anxious if I’m not writing, and sometimes I push everything to the side to write. (Obsessive-compulsive much?) The accomplishment I feel after completing a writing assignment – for school or for myself – is exhilarating.
Most of the time, I can write anywhere, as long as I have a pen in my hand and a piece of paper capable of holding the words from my heart. Other times, I can only write when I’m in front of a computer where my fingers are able to keep up with the flow of thoughts spinning around in my head.
And there are time when I can’t write at all. Nothing sounds right. (Though in reality, I’m sure it’s because I’m too scared I’ll write something bad). I stare at the blank page, the words itching at the tip of my fingers, and I think that if I can just get the words down on paper it will be amazing and no one will be able to handle just how amazing it is. If only. Right?
There’s also the incessant beast that only gives me inspiration just as I’m climbing into bed. I’m tired, trying to fall asleep, and BAM! my head is filled with these delicious words and phrases writers only dream about (pun unintended).
So, there I am debating whether or not I should ignore the beast, forever losing what could be the best story in human history, or pull myself away from the comfort of my warm bed and try to make sense of the word dump. It’s a never ending battle, and most often than not, I am still awake at 2 am, scribbling furiously away in an attempt to tame the beast.
I love to write?
I do. Really. Even through a haze of sleep deprivation, the words I write fill me with joy, and uncertainty, and agonizing torture. But, I do it anyway because through the sweat and the blood, the greatest feeling is writing the final period, knowing the time and effort I put into the story, poem, or essay isn’t a waste. Sure, there will be editing, rewriting, editing, and more rewriting, but I’ve created something. Something that could change the world.
Or maybe only one person.
And that is a beautiful thing.