Why I Started Blogging
George Orwell once wrote, “It is not by making yourself heard but by staying sane that you carry on the human heritage.”
I need to write because if I don’t, I just might go insane with the storm of thoughts that brews in my head. To make peace with all the chaos, that is the reason why I write. Writing doesn’t limits my imaginations, or my freedom for that matter.
In this age of bootlegging, peer to peer sharing, piracy, I still prefer social engineering more than hacking. Dipping my pen into the Royal Indian blue ink, I could’ve written few words on a piece of paper but I chose blogging. We end up doing the same things for different reasons.
I’ve struggled a lot with my over-analyzing, I have put myself under a lot of unnecessary pressure, thinking what to say, how to say it, and what exact words to use. Like I said, unnecessary pressure, so here I am, with a blog, speaking whatever comes into my mind and I hope it won’t be total gibberish. I hope my tenacity for writing, my moxie, will prevail.
Few questions I needed to ask myself before I started blogging were rather convoluted. What am I expecting from my writing? What are the goals I wish to achieve? Do I want to be a bestselling author? Do I want to write social commentary? For whom am I writing this? For the future or for the past? Would anyone really care about my words? Or do I simply wish to write for the sake of writing?
I needed to know that.
Titles mean nothing, it’s the respect and trust that needs to be earned. I wish that my words will do that for me. I’ll earn the respect of my silent friend, my over-analyzing critic, my dear imposter.
Why Do I Write?
Once a friend of mine asked me, “how do you write? I don’t understand it, writing about something you have never experienced.”
Well, I guess that’s why it’s called creative writing, you give words to your thoughts and most of the times we write from our own experience, we just add a little bit of fiction to it, a bit of drama and if nothing works, you can always lie with your writing, with your words (Pretty sure, that’s the job description of a politician). Honestly though, I write because I want to. OK, it might sound strange but I’m not a good reader. I prefer writing rather than reading. It just binds me from writing, I always end up comparing myself to someone else’s style. I don’t write like me then. Reading and writing, they are the two sides of a same coin. Think about it, they belong to the same piece of metal yet they are never together. When I read I don’t write and when I write I don’t read (It makes perfect sense to me).
I like poetry, simply because it gives you freedom to feel whatever you want to feel. When you write novels, you try to make sure that the reader feels exactly what you want them to feel. With poems, it isn’t like that. Few crude and abstract words and they give you the freedom to affiliate them with your memories in whatever way you find most intimate. You make those words your own, you tether them with the experiences that shaped your life.
How I made peace with my overbearing need for perfection.
Note how I wrote, "It came out rather stupid and I need to make it right."
You know why clichés are called clichés, because they are comfortable, they feel boring because they are something we are familiar with, something that keeps us in a feel of ease. Our need for perfection so often cripples our creativity. We can end be being hypocritical without even knowing it.
I still believe that love is an instinct which camouflage something more primal in nature. We love what we like, we like what we understand, we understand what we know, and no matter how much we say otherwise, we know ourselves more than anyone. We love something which is similar to us, or something which we want in our life.
Clichés were my second chance at redemption. So often, reality strips up life of its simplicity. I wrote what I knew. I wrote the way I wanted to write and once I had written enough, I shared it with you, the WordPress community. We’re unique on our own, no desire for perfection can strip us of that. Facing our fears doesn’t kills us, it gives us the courage to move on. Writing ended up feeding my personal quest for wholeness.
The words between the lines were simple, write what you know, write enough and hope that someday it will finally feed your need for perfection.
We all do same things for different reasons.
The only way to get over our pain is to go through it. I mean the things we love the most and matter the most, they are kind of scary.
There is a world in my head that is more perfect than reality (Sarcasm and dark humor are not for faint hearted who do not know how to read between lines). I guess I like having this little voice in my head, my dark passenger I guess, There is a world in my head, in my subconscious mind which keeps moving on even if I go to sleep. My mind is always filled with situations, scene, plot twist that will keep occurring regardless of my day job. It just never lets me rest properly, always moving and turning (Waking in middle of the night to write down little notes, convoluted write-ups that made no sense when I use to wake up in the morning). The build up to all of this, little short prose, were drabbles which were my flying lessons, opening up my wings one step at a time before I would soar them completely.
The men of always doesn’t care for children of never. No man knows how his story will end but we all hope for the best.
Let’s see where this journey will end.
Comments and likes are the fuel that drive us to write better. Few thoughts, that’s all I ask for.