Me as a writer

First and foremost: hello to everyone reading my post! I know I haven’t been on tumblr for a while, so I have a lot to catch up on. I haven’t been in the mood to update my blog, is all. But aside from that, thanks to those who are still following me; I really, really appreciate it. Man, I suck at expressing my gratitude, but I hope you guys get the point. Anyway, I realized I haven’t posted any of my writing in a while, so here it is:

I feel as if my talent for writing has been pilfered from me and released into the depths of the barriers of the universe; my writing now sucks. There’s something missing in my writing, but I can’t pinpoint what it is. Now, my writing doesn’t seem like mine anymore. My voice can’t be heard; my thoughts aren’t thoroughly expressed; my craft is lackluster. In short, I have weakened this past year as a writer.

 I was an exceptional writer. It’s hard to believe that I used to be great. I mean, how did I succumb so low? What happened? I used to feel so proud of my writing. But recently, each time I finish writing a piece for English class, I wish I have never written it. Yes, they’re that bad; they’re just not me. I can no longer tolerate it. I want to resurrect my identity as a writer. I want to be me again. These past few months, I haven’t been me. This isn’t me.

What I’m enduring right now isn’t a writer’s block. It may seem like it, but it isn’t; I know the difference. I can feel it. This is something entirely different; I have all my ideas splayed out in front of me, my plan is complete. Yet, I fail to follow through with it. Why? Because I feel restricted. My current English teacher keeps telling me to control my writing. What does that even mean, ‘control writing?’ No one can control writing, for God’s sake. Writing is like a river; you have to let it flow. Otherwise, it will become clogged. With that, writing becomes more like labor than, say, praying, because you spend more time trying to clean up your writing, making it look appealing, than expressing.

I write to express, not to be correct. If I did, then there would be no passion in my writing; I would have no talent whatsoever to support the backbone of my writing. In short, my writing would be zilch, unworthy of being appreciated and understood, and being classified as art. And to me, writing is an art form. Why? Because with writing, you express what’s inside of you, revealing your thoughts and feelings subtly, while reflecting your vision of the world in some way. The result doesn’t have to make sense, it doesn’t have to be logical, nor does it have to look beautiful; the purpose of writing is to provoke thought and/or feeling through mirroring society or whatever, whilst unveiling your inner self to the reader without being condescending. That’s what makes writing an art form. If anyone writes for the sake of analysis only, then they’re not actually writing; that’s not what writing is all about. Writing is an experience, not a task.

I wrote this a while back (February 12, 2012, to be exact - commend me for my accuracy, dear readers…nah, I’m just kidding!), by the way, so it may not be too exact on pinpointing how I feel now. Nevertheless, I feel it is important for me to post this since I want to share my writing with you guys and I often express myself through writing, as most of you can tell by now.

I know this is bad timing but…I’m trying to figure out a way to conclude this post without sounding awkward, yet seeing as I’m failing miserably to do so, I might as well end it here. Well, have a nice night. And thanks again for sticking with me for this long!