Writing for yourself

So you want to be a writer. All you need is a pen and paper, and a non-human amount of self-discipline that has you sitting down, concentrated, inspired, and creative, actually putting that pen to paper and producing words in its wake. Easy, right?

I began writing fictional stories, quite literally on paper, when I was 12, largely for my own entertainment. They mostly featured my friends and I as international spies, or cool and hot assassins, or scheming roadies - there was almost always blood, and guns, and sex, and a lot of running involved. Eventually, as these stories started to grow a life of their own, I felt compelled to show said friends, to read them out to family, and, eventually, to take my musings online.

Behind this motivation was the same driving force that has since seen me join (and eventually abandon) every single blogging or writing platform, work for magazines, and complete a university degree in creative writing - which is to put my work in front of as many people as possible. Because if it isn’t seen - if I’m not seen - by others, then what’s the point?

Coincidentally, I stopped writing in my trusty personal journal about a year ago. The reason behind this was, quite simply put, laziness, but it has taken me a year to realise how much of a difference it made to have a space to go to, whether to vent, to plan, or to mull things over; a space to store my personal longings, my aspirations, or most importantly, who my celebrity crush was at any given point in time. It’s good to read these back as I morph from one person to the next, if only to feel absolute confusion about some of those crushes. Not having that space has made my life less in focus, more confusing, and definitely less theatrical in the past year - but worst of all, it also made me suffer those unwritten words in other ways.

I’m not the first person to make a point about how important it is to write it out - even if it’s just for you; especially if it’s just for you.

In between these two - my embarrassing desire to be widely read, and a lack of space where I could express myself however I want - it occurred to me that really, truly, all you need is pen and paper. Or a CMS and internet connection, in this instance.

My short stories might not be developed enough for print, or my personal essays smart enough for journals, but that doesn’t mean I can’t write them, publish them, revel in them, and hope that others might enjoy them too. Writing for others is inevitable - it happens even in the most private instances, because we’re generally rather self-indulgent in our assessment of ourselves and our work -, but writing for the sake of writing can definitely co-exist with a habit of wanting my work to appeal to others.

I haven’t written for myself in over a year, but this is a good time, a good place to start again as any.