I don’t think I have anyone in my life that would understand what I choose to do in my spare time. I couldn’t imagine that they would get my need to write, my ultimate dream of being a novelist. It’s not like being a musician, a singer or an actor. These are jobs that are often sought for. In my world at least I don’t think it’s a common ambition to be a writer. If I told people what I hoped to become one day, I couldn’t imagine what their reaction would be.
I have wanted to be a writer for the past 10 years. It’s actually been that long! I must add that I am nowhere near close to writing a full novel, despite this 10 year ambition I have held close to my heart. I do question whether it’s worth me pursuing this dream. Instead of spending time cooped up in my own little bubble, working on something that may never see the light of day I could be doing other things. I could be taking the time to watch new TV shows, listening to what’s new in the charts, exercising, practicing meditation or yoga, taking a year out to travel and see new places, teaching English in a foreign country, socialising, living the best life that I can.
Is the time I have spent at home working on my novel going to waste? Am I really capable of a career like this? Should I just give it up and be…normal? Why must I hold onto this dream that may never even come true? If I continue to pursue my ambition of being an author, are people going to think I am weird for isolating myself, choosing to stay in instead of going out and doing normal people stuff?
Why is it that I must write? For one, I have sacrificed social activity in the name of this hobby. I barely know what’s happening in the world of today. I am much too focused on the world that’s going on in my story.
Perhaps it’s just something I’ve held onto for so long that it’s hard to let go. No, It’s not just that. I hate to be all cheesy but I’m going to do it anyway. ‘Writing is the window to my soul’. I am pathetic when it comes to expressing myself. I struggle to open up to people. I keep my thoughts inside. I think ALOT. I feel and hurt deeply. I worry what others think of me. I observe the actions of others. I think I see things that perhaps others wouldn’t pay attention to. It goes without saying that I am misunderstood as a person. Being shy, quiet and introverted isn’t something that people readily understand. Having these traits make me unlikeable to those that do not know me. This hurts of course, because of my desire to be liked.
I express myself through words. The experiences, the people I’ve met, the feelings that I have kept buried inside, the thoughts…..its easy to write down, damn near impossible to say. It’s a release to have this piece of work that’s a representative of you, a message that I hope to get out into the world one day, to help others who maybe like me. A way for people to understand the real me through the books I aspire to write. Still waters run deep, but when I write I’m an open book.
In an essence, that is why I must write.