It’s a weird thing, really. This need to write. Where there is no other orifice or outlet that can ever be the container for the things that just want to… to explode. to ooze. to drip. (out) The need to write. The urge. When having two jobs that both require you to write on a daily basis, 18 hours a day. Even when the thought of writing another word makes one sick. Your fingers even dread the thought of having to type on another key on the keyboard…
But I write anyway. Something about writing for myself calms me down. The thought that you aren’t hindered or restricted to certain guidelines of forms. The only structure you need to be wary of is the structure of your thoughts. The message you want to deliver.
Lately, I have been getting strict with myself. There are times when I scratch a draft out just because it doesn’t really make sense or it doesn’t really answer the questions my mentors told me to ask my piece.
“Why did you write this piece?”
“What is your message?”
“Is your message clear?”
Then again, I keep forgetting the smiles they make when they finally say:
“Why do you write?”
“For whom do you write?”
The last two questions have enough power to cancel the first three guidelines in writing a beautiful piece. Someone important to me reminded me to just post what you feel like writing, really. “Because, you can.”
I realized this over a sandwich and coffee while I lazily read through my drafts. I can always edit them later on, right? There are times when I want to take writing seriously. Though I won’t really make money off this blog… I remembered why I put this up in the first place. It is my blog. It’s for me to write in. Who cares if anyone reads this? Sure, readers would be nice. Likes and comments are always welcome but… at the end of the day, it is the personal satisfaction one gets after writing something regardless if it means anything or not.
What matters most is that it is out there. You pressed the publish button.