Writing Diaries: Chapter One

A reflection on writing

why has writing become so hard?

I’ve wondered how I’ve lost sight of the joy that used to fill me up back when I was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, getting lost in the worlds of my own making. but the truth is simple.

that kind of writing was just for me.

when I first began writing a book, I didn’t have intentions to even publish it.

and then slowly, I shifted into wanting to publish a book.

I went through pen names and ideas and concepts and it all came back to self-publishing in the end.

but before I hit publish, before I hired an editor, before I hired a cover designer, before I even formatted the book, there was something far greater than any of these things happening.

I was writing for myself.

I was writing a story that needed to be told. not for the world. not for others. I needed to tell this story for myself.

Somewhere in between publishing four books, it’s started to become hard. I have pressure, self-imposed of course, to publish, to write, to make something people will like while also staying true to a grand message that I don’t even know yet.

I crave the words, yet the well is dry.

because I haven’t written something for myself in a long time.

A few years back, I came into a stumbling block during writing my trilogy. I had dealt with a friendship ending and a lot of hurt feelings from the things I had endured during this friendship.

I needed an outlet, but journaling felt too real, too on the nose.

I began writing a book that was never meant to see the light of day. I wrote it in ten days, and that began a healing process within me. So why can’t I write something for myself now?

the truth is, I know I want to query whatever I write next. I know I want to try to land an agent and a book deal. I want to make a book so profound. I want to spread a good message about GOOD LITERATURE in the world of BookTok.

I want to make a change.

but I also am stuck.

I want to write something that’s deeply and wholly mine. I want to pour my heart into the pages, bleeding the very depth of my soul into something. but how does one do that and be okay with laying their soul bare where people might see?

I want to build a vast story world and write multiple series in it, like Leigh Bardugo and Stephanie Garber have done.

Worlds that transport you.

I want all of that while also spreading a deep and profound message, so deep and so profound I don’t entirely know what it is yet.

writing is like the air in my lungs, but it’s also been hard to do. I get caught up on the small details.

Should I pay for the updated Microsoft Word?

Should I just use Scrivener?

What if I just use Google Docs?

What should my characters’ names be?

And so on and so forth, the battle in my mind is waged against me.

I crave to be back, lost in a world of my own making. One that allows me to write honestly.

Yet I am stuck in the back and forth.

And this feeling prevents me from writing.

I wish there was a better ending to this chapter, but it’s only the beginning.

there is never a satisfying resolution in chapter one.

there is more to come as I find my voice again.

more words to write and stories to share.

To Be Continued…