The magical act of writing every day for one year

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” ― Ernest Hemingway

I was told that I was terrible at writing.

I remember when my teacher invited me to her office to talk. 

She was angry. I did not understand why.

I had recently handed in my literature essay. I had worked day in and day out to make it look perfect. Even my friends liked it. Knowing my friends that were a miracle by itself. They also laughed at the touches of humor that I included after scrolling through memes. Yes, memes were a thing back then. Oh wait, they still are.

Well, let’s go back to the warm and stinky office located in the corridor of an even uglier building.

She had read through it. Maybe more than once.

I crossed my fingers that she would like it. Much was at stake. I had promised my friends to buy them candies for a week if she did not give me a top grade. I should stop making bets since I always lose. The worst part is that I still make them until this day.

Seconds went by, then minutes. The clock was ticking. I followed every movement with my eyes, tick tick tick. I was nervously changing my position on the chair. Sometimes it feels like time never pass. So, I started to daydream.

I have always been good at that. Daydreaming is fun. My parents always said that my future address should be in the clouds. So, my teacher’s office evolved into a crystal-blue skyscraper in the heart of New York City.

My middle-aged and grumpy teacher turned into the most influential editor in history. She was not alone. Around her, she had many more world-class writers, such as my idol James Altucher. He blinked when I looked at him. He also mentioned that he loved my work. They all wanted to publish my essay and turn it into a book. They guaranteed me that it would be a New York Time bestseller.

“You are a terrible writer,” she said.

I bounced back to reality in a fraction of a millisecond. The hot air balloon that I had filled with my hopes and dreams lost its height. I was back in the sticky and warm office somewhere in Spain.

My jaw dropped by a mile and a half.

I could not believe what I was about to witness.

There was something strange about her facial expression. It seemed like she was about to tell me something that would change my life.

I was right.

She advised me to follow a different carrier path.

"Writing is not where your strengths are" she continued.

Her expression shifted again, but now drastically. Her aggressive appearance turned into an embarrassed smile. She felt that I was experiencing an existential breakdown and sweating as if I was walking in the Sahara. The air-conditions was at full speed.

“Writing is a waste of time for you, so you better find something better to do.”

I nodded and walked out of the room. I had two problems now. First, I had lost my bet. Second, I did not have enough money to buy candies for my friend for the upcoming week.

Jokes aside, after that day things have drastically changed. I made a promise to myself that day. I would never, ever, ever let someone else's opinion become my reality. So, what did I do? I decided to write every day.

After my teacher shared her opinion about my writing, I felt a deep frustration. I wanted to show that I was indeed capable of writing.

So, I promised myself to write 300 words every single day. Period.

For the math geniuses out there, it’s time to make some calculations.

777 days have passed since my promise. Total words I have written since; 233100. Have I ever even missed one day? No, not even one. A well-written non-fiction book contains around 40000-60000 words. 

It was frightening to write every day. The biggest issues? What to write about. The thought of lifting up the pencil and write some random words in the alphabet was a challenge.

Then my mum gave me a diary.

After I started writing my diary, writing became a habit. I drug that I needed to feel complete. It became a part of me that was getting stronger and stronger for each day. Writing became a part of my identity. It was turning into something much more meaningful than a hobby.

When I first started to write, I was indeed terrible. Maybe I still am, but I have learned one or two things by doing so.

First, we all are terrible when we first start doing something. I have proof. My diary was full of scrap at first. I struggled even describing what I had for dinner. And I still do. To be terrible now, does not mean awful forever.

Secondly, we all need a teacher as I did. Without her, I would never develop my passion for writing. We need someone who tells us the truth, but it does not necessarily need to break us down. The fact now does not mean the truth forever.

My advice is to make a promise to yourself and stick to it like an obsessed fly looking for a window to fly out. And of course, make a bet about it with your friends. It works every time.

 The real magic happens when you create your reality.

“You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because the reality is finally better than your dreams.” ― Dr. Seuss