Dear Diary, why am I writing | Diary of a Would-Be Full-Time Writer #1

Dear Diary, why am I writing | Diary of a Would-Be Full-Time Writer #1

Dear Diary, why am I writing | Diary of a Would-Be Full-Time Writer #1

Dear Diary, why do I write?

Nobody sees me anyway. I push my work out there, not a single like or comment, no one gives me feedback. It’s like I vandalized a small part of the social media wall and nobody pays attention because there are way larger graffiti signed by big names and publishers.

I wrote 10,000 words this week and that’s ten times more than what I can write in my essays. Applaud me. Tell me you’re proud of me. That I did a good job.

Just one person to read all my hardwork is enough, but no one is willing to give a couple of hours to read the book that I spent time, money, effort and braincells to finish. I feel unseen, unheard and underappreciated for a talent I spent years developing. It’s unfair.

Every week, I meet a new writer or two hop on our Discord server, looking for a community to share their work. Apparently, I’m not the only one in this sinking ship. There’s many aspiring writers who wants to be the next Stephen King, who wants to take the mantle of Queen of Crime from Agatha Christie, who wants writing to be their full-time job. I’m not the only one.

Then why am I still writing if the competition is this fierce? If my chances are this slim?

I’ve lost count how many times I asked myself why I spend hours of the day locked up in my room to write. It’s the same amount of times that I lost the motivation to keep going. The days when I lose sight of the inspiration that made me want to write in the first place, hit a writer’s block, take a break and never open my manuscript again.

It’s not easy to rekindle a lost passion, but I found a trick that worked. I remind myself to look back to my roots, because the reason I stopped writing is most likely not the same as the reason I started writing.

Diving back to 2008 when Twilight was the talk of town, I discovered it was adapted from a book. A book I’ve never heard of. I was a reader in my younger years, but mostly middle-grade picture books. I didn’t like reading text without cartoons on the page, but that’s because as a child I needed the assistance to stimulate my imagination. As soon as I’ve read The Hunger Games and Divergent, I started developing interest in writing. I tapped into fanfiction and explored alternate realities of existing worlds.

It came to the point that twisting the scene of events of an existing lore wasn’t enough. I wanted to write more than just giving a happy ending to a dead favorite character. Jumping from Fanfiction.net to Fictionpress.com, my story writing journey began. Wattpad, AO3, Inkitt and Webnovel, I tried them all.

There was this giddiness every time I finished writing a chapter, the sense of pride in myself that I was another chapter closer to finishing a book. I loved that feeling. It most certainly felt different when a classmate of mine started showing interest to read it. He was one person, but it meant the world to me that we’d have shipping wars and conspiracy theory debates.

I cherish these memories because they’re my roots.

Whenever I reach the point when I question my existence in the writing side of life, I look back and remind myself the first person I’m writing to is myself. The giddiness I feel when I finish a chapter, that child-pride of mine that believes I have a unique idea just waiting to be discovered. This is where my passion started and I need to revive it.

Because of burn-out from the lack of attention or my goals may have driven off-course from the original, I have to re-align it. It’s easy to say that I want my passion back, but it’s not easy to penetrate the cemented writer’s block that’s been building up over the months (or years) that I stopped writing. So, I tell stubborn me that I’m writing for myself, it’s still not working. Why can’t I convince myself to write again?

I reminisce 2008 again and ask myself that same question. It’s 2008 and Twilight is the popular fiction everyone’s talking about. I discovered it was originally a book, which was pretty cool. I’ve never read books without pictures before, but eventually I picked up my first novels. The Hunger Games, I absolutely adored. When it was adapted into a movie as well, there was this tinge of pride in myself that I had read the book first. It made me want to write an alternate universe, an alternate ending, a couple-change, or a What If Primrose joined the games kind of thing.

From there, it dawned on me that what made me want to write a book is because I read. So I start digging my old TBR list and start from there.

Every time I feel that I burned myself out with writing, I take a break and pick up a book. After a while, the inspiration is back again and I’m clacking a thousand words or so a week.

My roots isn’t my childish giddiness when I write, it’s a fruit, but not it. It’s reading.

So, I challenged myself a few months ago to finish the latest project I’ve been working on with the recent tactic to read when I’m mentally fatigued. Normally, it takes me a month or two to finish reading a novel. But I’ve read four books in four weeks and that’s a world-record to my personal habit tracker.

It really does make a difference to know why I’m writing, and it’s not for the validation of strangers.

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Maybe today is the day you join us, maybe tomorrow, or maybe sometime in the future when our paths cross again. Life is strange that way. I look forward to meeting you. After all, strangers are friends we haven’t met yet.