I've been writing a long time. In elementary school, I began writing short stories, inspired my favorite books (I still remember one project inspired by Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials series.) I began writing frequently in middle school: in 6th grade, I published poetry online; in the 7th grade, I wrote a very short novella and collected more ideas than I could ever write, now inspired by John Green's Looking for Alaska; in the 8th grade, I participated in (and won) NaNoWriMo.
During that time, I wrote for pleasure. My stories definitely reflected themes in my own life, but primarily I loved to imagine my characters and felt excited by the potential of every blank page. I filled up notebooks with snippets and concepts, drew character sketches, and spent hours researching names online. Writing was never difficult. It came naturally.
In the 8th grade, I blogged, tumbl'ing somewhat mainstream pop/rock and pretty pictures, and occasionally commenting on politics. But I'd deleted that site by high school. In my freshman year, I decided to begin again - but this time, documenting my writing progress and responding to common writing advice.
Throughout middle school, I'd read various writers' and agents' blogs (I still occasionally read Nathan Bransford's, one of the best; I also loved and continue to love Sheila O'Malley's movie/book/personal blog). I vaguely thought blogging about writing would help me. Most writers blog for promotional purposes, but I wanted to apply what I'd learned through others, personal experience, and my English classes in a practical way.
And so began Writer, Bewildered (a play on Girl, Interrupted. I love Winona Rider.) The site's title and address have changed multiple times, but I recently returned to the blog's general original layout (same background, title, and address, with a new title font, profile photo, and Calibri font for aesthetic purposes. I'm proud of the pop art-ness.)
I first blogged at this address on February 26, 2012. Since then, I've posted 35 times, and written just as many unfinished drafts or posts I've decided against publishing for the sake of quality.
Remember all those blogs I'd read in middle school? I learned a lot from them, and even more than I knew. (The more I read newbie writers' work and hear them discuss their stories, the more I realize how much my knowledge has helped me.) The problem is...
I'm a great editor.
Which is important, definitely. As they say, writing is rewriting, and editing skills are vital in order to grow as a writer. But that ability to detect my mistakes as I write them has hindered me, particularly recently. Every time I pick up a pen or open a new Word document, my fingers freeze up. I try to write, but the words are cliche. Or my depiction of my setting is inaccurate. Or my characters are flat.
It's not writer's block - it's writer's fear. I could power through it - I have in the past - but recently I haven't, because I've lacked a sense of purpose.
I'm not only good at writing. Why should I waste my time? It's not only a matter of questioning my own talent or comparing myself to others. I genuinely don't know how my writing helps anyone. Community service is important to me, and my favorite time each week is spent tutoring students at a local elementary school, because I feel like my work is meaningful. But hasn't every story been told? Isn't discussing books and writing silly? I should be a surgeon, or every a garbage collector: they accomplish more.
Recently, though, reading Lawrence Ferlinghetti's Poetry as Insurgent Art has given me a new sense of purpose, as well as a quote by Jonathan Safran Foer - something along the lines of, "If I'm choosing to sit in a room by myself writing all day, I need a pretty damn good reason for doing so. So I have to write something very important."
Whether you're a fan of Foer or not (I happen to be one), it's a good point - and the originality and power of his work makes me believe that there is a point to writing. I couldn't write romance even if I somehow became as successful as Danielle Steel; I need to write something original and true but that reflects on the present. All writers copy, and newbies in particular borrow heavily from those they admire.
Gabriel Garcia Marquez died recently; in his lifetime, he was lauded for his inventiveness, he popularized magical realism, and perfectly fits the definition of a "great writer." Not to mention his sometimes stunning wisdom. In Love in the Time of Cholera, Garcia Marquez wrote, "Wisdom comes to us when it can no longer do any good." But maybe that doesn't have to be true, with writers like Garcia Marquez as guides.
I was recently asked what I like to write. Screenwriting? Poetry? Do I like sci-fi? I tend toward the realistic and the current, but more important I think is my mission.
Bringing me back to this blog. I've reread various posts often in the past weeks, and I have always noticed my naivete and simplistic ideas about writing. Some of that may result from a desire to keep posts simple and to the point - but I also used to view writing very differently. Including the fact that I had no specific goals about what my writing should accomplish.
Now, I realize I want to write something that uniquely conveys my ideas about the world, in its style and structure. My work might not be stunningly wise or original, but I want it to be mine. To a non-writer, that may seem like an obvious statement; but to me, it's everything.
So why the goodbye to WB? First, I think this blog represents a certain era in my writing career; one I'm now past, but don't want to forget. I also enjoy blogging, but don't want to feel constrained in what I write - so I'll continue to post opinion pieces and movie reviews on my tumblr (aka the most carefully curated teenage tumblr ever). My writing and photography can be found here, and I occasionally repost things I like here. Not to mention my twitter.
And now it's time to go.
