I have yet to tell a single person I know that I like writing, let alone that I want to be a writer. Not my family. Not my friends. No one. Perhaps this is a common dilemma. Perhaps not. It’s not that my family wouldn’t be supportive. Hell, they would be too supportive. I don’t really know what is preventing me from telling them. Most likely it is my crippling fear of something I care about so much being ridiculed, despite the fact every logical fiber in my being tells me that would not be the case.
I almost failed my english class last year. My teacher made my crippling fear mentioned in the previous paragraph about ten times worse to the point where I couldn’t even write a simple paper. Such a thing is very discouraging to a writer, especially since my ability to write an essay has yet to return to me. I literally cannot write for school anymore. I used to be able to whip essay after essay out in a mere couple of hours, but no longer. I believe I have only turned one essay in on time this whole year and each and every assignment has been a grueling, seemingly-impossible task that has lead me to procrastinate an extreme amount.
Most people talk about procrastination as a relatable thing that everyone does. This talk makes me quite frustrated because I procrastinate to the point where I am walking into class with nothing to turn in. And in case you were wondering, my return to this blog after a very very extended break is another form of this procrastination.
I have always wanted to put my writing out there. To have someone read and appreciate my work. Not that anyone will really appreciate this post of me venting about my problems with writing. The idea of people I actually know reading my writing is not an enjoyable thought, so, tossing these posts out there to people whose faces I will never see, people who I will never have to face, is a much more comforting idea.
Truly, I want to write a novel. I’m currently most interested in this fantasy story that I have been developing in my head recently. This blog was originally meant to be like this post, venting about my everyday life in prose, and yet when I started my first post, I found myself writing poems.
I am not a poet.
I do not even like poetry all that much. I rarely read it. when I do read it, I understand it even less. So, color me perplexed as to why my hands and mind decided to post poems on a blog that I originally intended to be a blog comprised of prose. After writing some poems, I have found myself needing to express my thoughts in a more clear and concise manner and that is how we ended up here, with this post about nothing of importance to anyone but myself.
That’s all for now.