There was a constant monologue of thoughts and ideas running in my head. It was an internal soliloquy that, despite my efforts, could not be tamed. I used to disregard the persistent whispers, and eventually they would just die. As I took the life of one after the other, I began to feel like a murderer. What could have turned into something extraordinary, was now lost into the abyss never to be heard from again. The remaining thoughts united together and began to rally. They were relentless as they continued to beg me for mercy. I finally caved in and decided to validate them by transforming them into written words. When those thoughts were finally written down it seemed to give them peace, as if putting them on paper was assuring them of their continued existence. I never made the decision to become a writer. It just happened as a result. My intention was never to become the next Charles Dickens. I was simply in search of an outlet for my thoughts. I wanted to be able to document them so that they could live on, and be remembered. It was my safe place for them to hide so that I may visit them later on, and perhaps elaborate on them further. My interest in writing grew with each piece that I wrote. What started as a simple, self-improving exercise turned into a passion for a craft. Surprisingly, rather than muffling the voice in my head, it grew louder and started screaming even better ideas at me than ever before. I began learning new things and asking the types of questions that I stopped asking as a grown adult. Over the years, I began assuming the answers to questions, and pretended to know answers to things that I really didn’t know.
The childhood curiosity that was once covered up by grown-up responsibilities, started to peek its head out. My inquisitive mind roared for attention. I felt like a kid again. I felt reborn in a sense. I once read in a book by James Altucher, that good ideas take practice, and that practice means every day. So with the desire to continue opening up my imagination, I began to write, at least a little, each day. Some days I didn’t know what to write so I would just write,
“I don’t know what to write,” until the words came to me. Eventually they always came. I gradually became better and better. Consistency was the key. After sharing my literature with friends and family, I was encouraged to share my writings with the rest of the world. All of a sudden, writing became scary. There was no way I could write a book.
“I’m no professional,” I thought to myself, “What could I possibly fill hundreds of pages with? Besides I swear a lot. Is that going to be a problem?”
The thought of putting my personal and private thoughts out for the world to dissect and criticize became paralyzing. I was a deer in the head lights. Then, just like that, I stopped writing.
Ten years had passed while my imagination was in hibernation. Looking back, I was a fool. All of the lessons that I had to share with the world, were now covered in dust. What was I so afraid of? As I grew older and matured, I decided to pick it up again. The fear of not being accepted was now the runner up to the fear of regret. I didnt want to lay on my death bed one day wishing that I would’ve written that book. It would be a complete waste of wisdom if I kept it to myself. I made the decision to finish the book that I set out to write, nearly a decade ago. I also decided to follow up that book with a personal blog. Still no professional experience what-so-ever. If I hadn’t stopped the first time around, then maybe I would know all the tricks of the trade by now. Two tears in a bucket, fuck it. We all have to start somewhere. It does nobody any good to keep crying over spilled milk. Just because I am not an award-winning author, does not mean that my writing cannot make an impact on someone. At the very least, I would benefit from it.
Almost immediately, in my new found journey, I was met with a backlash of criticism. Not at all for the content I was writing, which is rather surprising. I admit, I can be very offensive at times. However, it was my grammar that was the center of their scrutiny. As if the the use of the slang words “kinda” and “gonna” was going to completely diminish the message I was trying to convey. As expected though, I am not perfect. I did make some pretty significant errors that made me look like an idiot. By doing so, I did eventually learn from them. At the same time my imperfections are what led to my successes in the first place. It is those imperfections that make us unique. I learned pretty quickly to proof read my work a several times before I put it out. As an amateur though, mistakes still fall through the cracks, and people still point fingers. I will not let this to deter me. I will continue to write, and learn from my mistakes. This time I will be fearless. I am not going to give up again. My grammar might still suck, but those who are genuinely interested will get the message, and the others can kiss my (you know what). Eventually I
will perfect those skills. If not, then I can always hire an editor.
With the power of the internet right at our finger tips, we all have the ability to become writers, should we choose. Our worst enemy is not others. It’s ourselves. We are all brilliant, and we all have wonderful lessons to share. If we don’t express them, those thoughts will quickly become suppressed. Then sadly, suppressed turns to into repressed and progresses into depressed. Then we will be left with nothing but fear. If it’s others that you fear, then stand up to them. There will always be those people that try and knock you down, because they need to feel better about themselves. Don’t let fear keep you from sharing your amazing ideas. Let the literary Nazi’s have their opinions. It costs you nothing. Pay them no mind. They cannot subtract from the value of your words, unless you let them. Those words just might be another persons saving grace. Put them out there for the world to see just how great you are. Write, and write often. You will come to find it will lead to better writing and perhaps something even greater. Maybe one day your scribbles will end up on the list of New York Best Sellers. If you don’t at least try, you will end up with regret. Trust me, I’ve done myself that disservice more than I would like to admit. It is better to do and make mistakes, than do nothing at all.
Side note: If you catch any screw-ups, kindly send me a message and I will be sure to fix them :)
Talent Acquisition Operations Project Manager
10 年I can absolutely relate, I love writing but lately I've been doing less of it (recreationally); the thought of putting it out there for the world to criticize can definitely be paralyzing. I really enjoyed your piece, it's encouraged me to dive back in and, like you said, at least try!