So, hi everyone, long time no see.
For those of you that don’t know, I’ve been spending a lot of time on Tumblr because I’m a fan girl and that’s the place you go when you want to shamelessly obsess over nerdy things. Some of the other writers I follow over there have been doing this 100 Days of Writing challenge by the WIP Project. I’d been enjoying reading their posts so much and seeing their different writing styles, I decided to go ahead and join in. Their main page can be found here: https://the-wip-project.tumblr.com/
Day 1 Prompt: Write about what your motivation is to write at all. What got you started? What keeps you going?
My motivation is honestly pretty self indulgent. Of course, all writers write for other people. If we didn’t plan on having readers at some point, we’d never put pen to paper. Or fingers to keyboards. For me, I write what I want to read. I write about characters who inspire me, plot that moves me, issues that matter to me. I constantly have these ideas, speeches, emotions buzzing around in my head, and I write to release them. To get things off my chest, to tap into things I keep buried beneath the surface. I create these people and these worlds and after a while of letting them linger in the back of my mind, I get attached. I care about whether they get what they want or if they have to struggle. I care about them finding their own versions of happiness.
What got me started was a dream actually. I was in the third grade and I had a dream about this orphanage with vines growing from the ceiling and these girls who escaped from it. The next day, I wrote out a little story and even drew some pictures. I have no idea if it still exists but I remember taking it to school and showing my teacher. I remember her being impressed and telling me to write more, so I did, and I never stopped. I’ve been writing ever since.
I keep going because it’s part of my soul now. I can’t imagine ever not writing. I can’t imagine not creating characters or weaving stories together. Turning dreams into semi-coherent plots. I genuinely don’t know what my brain would even look like if I never started writing. It’s become so much more than a hobby, but a huge aspect of my existence. Even when I write things that I’m certain no one else will read. I’ve seen a lot of writers talk about how they write for their readers, and while a big part of me wonders how people will like what I produce and if anyone will connect the dots I lay out, I have to selfishly admit that I write for myself. As a mother and a wife and all the other components of who I am to other people, writing is the only thing I have that is purely mine.