Writing Is a Passion and A Way of Life
“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.
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.