On Writing

I suppose this is the post where I talk about my thoughts about writing. That said, I suppose this is somewhat of a "sister" post to my post about blogging that I wrote last month . 

Sometimes, I look back at the girl posts and think, “Wow that girl is really depressing.” All the stories that I have lined up for the girl are stories when she’s feeling down. Does that mean that she’s generally pessimistic and blue daily? Not really.

Happy things are fun to read, but for me, not really fun to write about. There are too many clichés connected with happiness, and there’s always more room for exploring when it’s about sadness. Why are you sad? Of course, that question can be flipped 180 degrees, turning into “Why are you happy?” I think being self-conscious comes a lot easier when you’re down than when you’re happy. Happiness? Why should you analyze yourself when you’re happy? It’s a lot harder. You’re not going to be jumping in joy and think “Wow, I’m such a failure.” These two things don’t mix.

I mentioned to my friend, the only person who knows both the real life me and the online me, and I was saying, “You know, I’ve always hated writing, ever since I was young.” She looked at me and stared. I stared back. Did I say something wrong?

It’s weird that me, the book crazy girl, would hate writing. I’m not capable of writing essays, which caused another friend (who knows nothing of my online life) to comment, “You read so much! You should be so good at writing.” Yeah, I probably should.

But back to the “I used to hate writing” thing. I don’t like writing essays, and that’s what started everything. I didn’t like poem reading or writing, a story that I documented earlier on this blog. In elementary school when I read a book where a 10 year old girl becomes a published author, there was a line that said, “Writers were always readers before they started writing.” When I read that line, I had thought, “Well I’m not going to be a writer, ever!”

Look who’s eating my words.  My friend, let’s call her J, responded, “But I thought that’s why you blog! So you want to become a writer!”

I proceeded to stare at her. A writer? I repeated myself, “I used to hate writing…” She stared at me like I had just flipped her world upside down. I probably just flipped her image of me upside down.

It wasn’t until I became “serious” with this blog that I started writing things. That was less than a year ago. I still don’t consider myself a writer.

First and foremost, I write about myself. I don’t spin outrageous stories about things I have no clue about. The girl series that I write? They’re motivated by my own experiences. I’m not the girl, but a lot of the girl’s feelings? I’ve felt them before. I write about what I know. As I said before in an older post, the girl series is based off of me, but only a little. You have to start somewhere right?

I consider myself a blogger. I draw a distinct line between writing and blogging. The only time that I spend writing is for my blog. The only things that I write that aren’t for school end up on the blog. I maintain a diary (so old-fashioned) but everyone knows that diaries don’t go online! At least mine doesn’t…  Writing, defined by me, means that you write things that may never see the light of day. Blogging? Nearly everything you write is public. If you’re a writer and a blogger? Well you do a combination of both, I suppose. 

I was doing chatting with other teen writers (I'm still not a writer!) and someone had mentioned that she was started writing 6 months ago. I responded with a sentence that made no sense ("I've been writing for" or something similar). She replied, " You meant longer than me [6 months] right?" As weird as it sounds, I've only been truly "writing" for 3 weeks. Three weeks ago, I started writing something that will probably never end up on this blog (a long story/book thing). Weird isn't it? But yes, I'm not a writer, even though I've started on something that isn't public. 

I’m going to have to eat my words once more as I realize somewhere on this blog, I’ve written, “alice-jane/ diary of a quiet girl” or something similar. Okay, it’s not a diary. This is definitely not my diary! I think I meant that this blog contains stories about my life in it. Yes! That’s what I meant.

I emailed this post to a friend, the same friend who knows about this blog, and she was like, "It's interesting how you draw such a line between blogging and writing. But I still think you're both!" I shrugged even then, despite the fact that we were chatting over email where she can't see my face nor my body expressions. I still think I'm a blogger, not a writer.

I read a tweet on twitter that went something like this, "If you don't think blogging is real writing, then you [expletive].. etc" I don't really think that I'm saying that. I'm more saying that I'm not a writer.

Yeah. Still not a writer...

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