Writing has always been a form of release for me. I remember that whenever I had spare time in elementary school, I would often write about crazy scenarios revolving around my favorite movie characters, placing them in terrifyingly idiotic situations and seeing how they would fare (I know what you’re thinking: It’s NOT fan fiction). Coupling this with my love for Legos, sometimes my writings would come to life in the form of stop-motion videos that I would post on my YouTube channel.
What made me fall in love with writing was that nobody wrote as I did. If you gave our class a topic to write about, I’d write an entirely unusual piece when compared to my peers. If I were to interpret a poem, you could almost always bet that I would come up with a far-fetched theory to link existing ideas together. Just ask my English classmates over the years. I’ve gotten blank stares, many worried glances and — my personal favorite — a “what the hell were you thinking?” from my senior English teacher. The truth is, these comments didn’t stop me from thinking outside the box. In fact, I took secret pride from being such an unorthodox writer. In short, I’ve always had a unique outlook on writing, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
As a result, I tend to be pretty bipolar when it comes to reading material. I adore genuine pieces and applaud works that prioritize meaning over glamor. It’s part of the reason why I can’t stand the wildly popular author Stephen King. His novels seem too manufactured to me, and I would always prefer to spend hours reading works from the likes of Cormac McCarthy, where emotions could hit you with even the simplest of words. While some see writing as a formulaic platform to distribute information, I see it as a creative medium, much like a canvas for painters or a staff for a musician. And like these artistic creations, the creator may draw inspiration from other sources but the final product is ultimately theirs.
I received an incredibly thoughtful email a few days ago from one of my readers, and it made me realize one thing: I was compromising my individuality in some of my posts. I wasn’t drawing inspiration from my favorite authors; I was emulating them. In an effort to sound intelligent, some thoughts that should have been easily transferred to writing became thick slogs that were as equally unenjoyable to write as they were to read.
I’m thankful that someone took the time out to give me feedback on my blog. As a budding writer hoping to document this upcoming year, each piece of critical feedback will be invaluable to my growth as a storyteller. I encourage you to visit my “contact me” page and tell me what you love or hate about my blog so far. I’ll read them and make sure to hear you out, I promise.