I Write Therefore I Am

Writing makes me happy. Simple as. It also regularly makes we want to bang my head off the table.

What makes someone a writer? It’s a pretty sweeping statement. Do you become a writer when you are officially paid to do it? Or is when when you first see your name in print? Maybe it’s simply something you are and not something you become. It’s the compelling urge to get your thoughts down whether you’re in the shower, running for the bus or lying in the darkness.

Don’t ask me about being a writer. lf when you wake up in the morning you can think of nothing but writing…then you’re a writer. – Rainer Marie Rilke

Nobody is forcing me to do it. I doubt anyone would be particularly bothered if I stopped… there’s one or two more blogs out there. And yet I have caught the bug, have experienced the satisfaction of people reading and liking what I write and the adrenaline hit that can only come from the ”publish’ button. Like I’ve just carelessly flung another piece of me out there, but the more I do it the less scary it gets, and I can’t seem to stop.

When I started to blog I was sitting repeat exams and stressed to my eyeballs. My friends were still in America and I needed a distraction ANY distraction from chemical mechanisms. Writing soothed my nerves and it was never supposed to be any more than that. Then I found myself falling in love with my own little speck on the blogosphere and felt the compelling urge to show someone who knew me inside out.

I met Laine when we moved in together four years ago ( yeeks) and we instantly clicked. I love her completely and trust her enough to be honest with me. She is also the one who presented me with a notebook on my 21st birthday with the message to “get on it” and start writing, ..thanks lady. So I sent her the link and she sent back some much needed encouragement .

I’ve always been at my best when I let go completely and write from the heart. When I’m hurting or exhausted or a painful experience is still raw, that’s when the words flow. Equally when I’m brimming over with happiness they tumble out of me falling over each other in a bid to scrawl across the page. To write, to really write, is to show the world a vulnerability and that’s an aspect I’ve always struggled with. I got an A1 in English in my Leaving Certificate and can guarantee  a lot of the reason for that was the anonymity of the correcter. I could let every barrier come crashing down and pour myself into the words.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” 
― Ernest Hemingway

Before I ever hit publish I will invariably have sworn at the screen, abused the backspace button and stared blankly into space for a while. Yet time becomes irrelevant and when what I’m feeling suddenly clicks in my head and the thought has slipped through my fingers onto the page the feeling of satisfaction is oh so worth it.

Reading amazing books has lit a fire in me to produce something real, not to be afraid of seeing and writing life how it is. Books have enchanted and gripped me my entire life.  Hours can pass by where I am oblivious to the world around me and captivated by the one I’m in. If I’ve had a rough day or just need a check out from reality for a little bit I open a book.

If ever something I write allows someone else to do that, then I will consider myself a writer

I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.” 
― Anne Frank