“You must have a colourful life,” someone once said that after reading something I had written.

I don’t remember what exactly. I’ve written so many things: some I discarded without second thoughts and some I’ve held onto like a junkie.

Other Stories: Mistakes Are a Way of Reminding Us That We’re Human

Then again, she made me stop writing out of experience, or so I told myself.

Writing from experience is tough, it takes courage and strength. Letting others read what you’ve written however, for me, redefines strength and takes courage to a whole new level.

Writing Has Always Been Like a Life Ritual to Me

Writing has always been some kind of ritual to me. Yes, I failed to come up with another word to use.

To some it doesn’t amount to much but to me it has always held some significance I can’t easily put it in words: some unexplainable power over me.

Putting something on paper means I acknowledge its existence. It means
I accept it and there is nothing I can do about it.

I’m not so much of a people person: I do not have problems with people. I just don’t find the pretence and the façades people seem to wear constantly that fascinating:

It makes it a little more difficult to tolerate people I must add since many have turned it into second nature.

Writing from life observations through site seeing - Newslibre
Writing from life observations through site seeing (Image credit: http://triptide.com.au)

Back to writing

It’s one thing to write about what you’ve been through. It’s another altogether to let people read about it. I figured that it gave people a right to look at my experiences from their own view add then label it with their own word of choice.

I don’t blame them. Whenever I wrote about my emotional roller coaster, I made it look thrilling.

All the mental battles I fought were made more hilarious than they actually were and I made chasing my demons look easier than it was, something a friend referred to as “beautifying the ugly truth.”

I referred to them as my own beautiful lies however, It’s true they were my experiences but reading them after, they sounded like nothing I had gone through or felt at the time.

So, I stopped consoling myself about the gruelling battles, the demons and the emotional roller coaster and decided to write about things I see in other people’s lives that I can relate to.

I was told there was a piece of me in everything I wrote. Maybe there is, I wouldn’t know.

I prefer to tell myself there isn’t. I can’t keep giving people rights to label my life. I refuse to acknowledge that fact and believe that I now write from observation and not experience.

Author: Teddy Gladys

Teddy Gladys is a freelance writer for Newslibre that loves writing about the ways of life, its mysteries and other forms of art.

https://i1.wp.com/newslibre.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/201211-orig-writing-story-600x411.jpg?fit=600%2C411&ssl=1https://i1.wp.com/newslibre.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/201211-orig-writing-story-600x411.jpg?resize=200%2C150&ssl=1Teddy GladysLifestyleStoriesExperience,Life,Observation,Passion,Writing“You must have a colourful life,” someone once said that after reading something I had written. I don’t remember what exactly. I’ve written so many things: some I discarded without second thoughts and some I’ve held onto like a junkie. Other Stories: Mistakes Are a Way of Reminding Us That We’re...People Media