I just finished reading another article that raises a significant question in my mind.
Why do I write?
I call myself a writer, and I believe it’s true. But why? I’m a shy, self-depricating person. I lack confidence and tend to discourage myself from thriving and being happy. Why, then, would I subject myself to the cruel world of critics, genre snobs, and Ryan Boudinots?
Well, for one, I like a challenge. And I’m known for making things more difficult for myself than they need to be. But the real reason is because… well, I like writing. As I may have mentioned before, it’s the best way I know to express myself. I can put into words the feelings and conflicts that I don’t have the courage to say aloud. Things I can’t even begin to comprehend come out seamlessly through text on a page.
What little confidence I have shines through my writing. You may not see it, but I do. And you know what? It’s worked out pretty well for me.
That’s not to say that I’ve finished a piece in the last seven years, been published, or done anything of literary value (though there was that college essay I wrote that became required reading for the freshman writing class the next year). But every for every decent job I’ve gotten, I was hired for my writing skills. I spent three years helping writers learn to harness their talents and improve their writing. I wrote articles and blog posts for a college website. And I wrote a thesis on video games! That’s all got to count for something, right?
I may never be published. I may never even get into an MFA program, never mind finish another thesis project. But I’ll still keep writing, because that’s what I feel I should do.