Friday, August 31, 2012

In which I am fascinated by my own navel...

You know the message board posts that get the (bloggy) disclaimer in the title?  Yeah, this is just going to be a bunch of self-absorbed musings, so read at your own risk. :)

The first (and pretty much only) time I ever thought of myself as a writer, I was five.  I wrote a little story about a rabbit called, "Where's my PJs?".  I never said PJs, always pajamas.  But I knew that this little rabbit would say PJs.  He just would.  It was exciting to have this character in my head that did and said things because he was, not because I was consciously creating it.

I was always making up stories in my mind, but they didn't make it to paper.  I actually disliked the physical writing.  And if it was a requirement?  Well, obligation can destroy the joy in just about anything.  School just about strangled any pleasure in writing permanently.  By sixth grade, I would skip over any written exercises and pencil in D.L. (for Do Later), and just go over the exam sections.  I never did go back and do them later.  When I got to college, my distaste for writing was so cemented in that I only took the two required Freshman Comp classes, and chose electives and instructors based in part on the probability of not having to write papers for their classes.

I have never, ever, ever been able to write from an outline.  My mind simply won't work that way.  It doesn't go from A to B to C.  It loops from A to Q to F to J to B to X.  In classes where I was required to provide an outline, I would write the paper first and then go back and create an outline.  I also found that I stink at editing.  I very quickly reach a point where I can't see it anymore.  I am just done.  Even when it doesn't feel right and I know it is messy, I simply can't force myself to clean it up once I have spent a certain amount of time on it.

So, I have never considered myself a writer.  Even blogging has always just been for fun to me, a way to mount soapboxes and process things that I was wary of boring my real life friends with.  Whenever someone would compliment me on a post, I would inwardly laugh one of those awkward, embarrassed laughs because I couldn't quite imagine that anything I wrote would matter to anyone else. 

When I started this blog, I fully expected to write a few posts with weeks in between them, and drop it altogether within a few months.  Somehow, that didn't happen.  I began to write more and more. And I found a whole world of amazing friends.  Now to my complete shock, I am finding other people who are interested in what I have to say, and it is scary and wonderful and surprising and exciting.  

I have had the honor or working with some amazing authors whom I admire with all my heart, and their encouragement can literally bring me to tears.  Today I asked myself for the first time, "What if this is really more than just playing?  What if I should take it seriously?"  Not seriously as in turn it into a burden and strip the fun out of it.  Been there, done that.  But seriously as in, maybe this is really something important.  What if this is a part of who I am created to be?

It makes me tremble.

I keep shying away from that idea, but when I think of all the times that you and I have connected somehow, my gratitude just spills over.  I know that your comments have, without exaggeration, changed my life.

It is only 8:00 PM, but this is the kind of stuff that is really my 3:00 AM ponderings--all emotional and dramatic and stuff.  ;)  Sometimes it was just too many tacos for dinner, I think.  But sometimes there is truth there, too. I am starting to believe that maybe it deserves more than an indulgent pat on the head.

Thank you for listening.  I think the fact that you are here and that we can encourage each others' souls deep down is my answer.


Laura said...

I <3 this post.. because I feel the exact same way... even down to writing my outlines after the paper! :) I just accepted a position to edit copy for a website. I'm scared out of my mind about it, but perhaps that is how we will get over this fear of insufficiency?

Just do it... get out there and try even if you are quaking in your proverbial boots. After all, the worst that be said is "no" if you try, the alternative being "what if" if you don't. (and then, keep us posted!)

arwen_tiw said...

(squishy cyber hugs) I'm cheering you on. xxx

Kelly said...

It's so funny to me to imagine you hating writing. :) Glad you found your way to it in the end - you are such an inspiration to many! The biggest reason being that it all comes straight from your heart - sounds cheesy, but it's true. Love to you Dulce!

Sheila said...

This post is such an argument for unschooling. I'd probably have hated writing if my mom had made me do it when I was homeschooled! By the time I went to "real" school I knew all the tricks: write the paper first, then the rough draft, then the outline. Write a good first copy because no way am I going back to EDIT that. I've learned to edit a little more since, but I'm still not a fan.

If you can talk, and you know how to type and spell, you can write! Blogging is so great for making that discovery. I made a different one, though. I always knew I could write. What I didn't know is that I could make friends and have fabulous conversations even though I'm a little shy and have a stutter. The internet is the great equalizer.

Anonymous said...

I just wanted to say your blog has meant a lot me. I found it randomly following one link after another on various blogs and websites, eventually ending up at your blog. After reading about 1.5 posts I went back to the very first post and read the entire blog start to finish. I would love to read more, so please keep on writing.