<< had to compose a self-analysis of ourselves as a writer for a class. here's what i came up with >>
When I write, I glimpse freedom— freedom of the mind and spirit. My conscience is often captive to the thoughts that so easily entangle. To eloquently deliver one’s thoughts, fears, dreams, and desires into the wide open spaces of the unknown via a sea of words is as close to freedom on this earth as I can imagine. Misplaced, misassembled, and misconstrued, my words remain a piece of my heart and I feel a sense of relief in casting them out of my over analytical mind. To be clear, these feelings come I write free hand, or for my own self-expression.
When I write for a deadline, on the other hand, I feel pressure—pressure to please an audience, pressure to place punctuation in the correct spot (God forbid we forget APA even momentarily), pressure to meet the word count and deadline, and pressure to make all editorial corrections—pressure to balance my thoughts, words, and insights with those of another.
My mother, herself a writer of sorts, always encouraged my writing, constantly seeking out my abilities since a young age. My father, a banker and master of numbers, understands my passion but to him it is a distant field To him, my commas and periods are out of place and my thoughts too intimate—to revealing and vulnerable to accept at face value. In a sense, my blog readers are some of my biggest motivators, silently encouraging me as they read. I see the numbers and I sense their appreciation, or disgust. My motive for my blog wasn’t, and isn’t, to beautify and gloss over my thoughts, ideas, and opinions, but to express them, not in search of agreement or affirmation, but to challenge my readers to think about the “stuff of life,” as I like to call it.
I think this is one of my strengths as a writer—provoking the thoughts of others through words. With this said, I write not to provoke others thoughts, but to provoke my own. I write as an external processing of sorts. I make it a point to be transparent with my audience and myself when behind the pen. To be vulnerable with another individual, or set of individuals for that matter, is a rare thing in this life, so I greatly value the transparency that writing offers.
On the other hand, a weakness that my writing poses is my lack of consistency. I write because my heart tells me to, and because my writing is often so revealing, I struggle writing in a consistent manner. At times, I wonder if my writing—and all that’s included in it—my hopes, dreams, aspirations, heart, fears, desires, you name it—scares me a little. As if I need some space because that was just too much, you know? But I get back up a while later and do it all over again, and man, does it feel good.
hope your week is starting off wonderfully.