Hello all! I’m alive! sorry I’ve fallen off the face of the earth, sort of. I have been busy writing, just not busy actually finishing anything up to post here.
I’ve submitted a couple short stories to three different contests on Inkitt.com (a kind of wattpad like community where you vote on stories). Please check out the 3 stories I’ve written for 3 different contests: The ArcHive (Sci-Fi), All That Remains (Horror) and How You See The World (Fantasy), by going to my profile http://www.inkitt.com/arrawyn (Thanks in advance!).
Anyways, on to why I’m actually writing this post today. It’s the latest Chuck Wendig Flash…NOT Fiction challenge. Instead of the usual writing a piece of fiction, he wants us to write about…why we writers write. Or really, why do I write (though I’m sure he’s not really going to care about the reasons why I, little ‘ol me, write stories. I think the exercise is more to have you think about the reasons you write. Like some cathartic exercise.. Everyone will have different reasons. Some people will have the: I need to get the stuff out of my head to make room with more stuff! Others will say: I write because I like creating things out of nothing. And I think I’m a mixture of those two I guess the main reason I write is that I love to read. That might not make sense to some. Not everyone who loves to read wants (and enjoys!) writing. Growing up I loved reading fantasy – mainly the Dragonlance series as a tween/teenager. And that’s what started me writing my own fantasy short stories with dragons (and other strange creatures). I loved the fantasy worlds I read about in other books so much that it inspired me to write my own stories
When I was younger, I can’t remember exactly how old I was, I remember giving my dad for Father’s Day a short story that I’d written. What I do remember is it was a quite depressing and violent story – I guess dystopian – about some monsterous creature that was attacking a town. Not a very Father’s Day-ish gift, probably, but he said he liked it…
I also wrote a bit of fan fiction when I was growing up too. Mainly Stark Trek: The Next Generation. I was obsessed with that show when I was younger, and the world and the characters were already there, already created, and I just needed to use my imagination to make up new stories for the characters. I still have those old ST:TNG stories of mine in a box in my closet.
So I write because the fantasy worlds of other people inspire me, I guess. I read great stories and I want to write great stories. I’ve always had quite a vivid and colourful imagination, and it only makes sense to get stuff out of my imagination and onto paper, so my mind can fill up with new, fresh imaginings, like a magical well bucket that never runs out of water, and with each scoop, it is replenished.
I write to share the stories of my characters, and the interesting worlds that I see in my head – the alleyways I walk down in my mind to the noisy, shabby markets full of nice and not-so-nice people. I write so that other people can picture what my villains look like, their motivations…so that the readers can travel in airships, walk through doors in locked towers to other places, try to escape living in underground cities or ride massive mechanical dragons.
I write mainly for myself, before anyone else. I’m not sure exactly what it was that made me first start writing when I was a child, but something made me, and I wrote the stories for me. I wrote down the scenes and pictures I saw in my mind. That is why, like many writers I assume, I’m so hesitant to put my writings out there in ‘the real world’, to have other people’s eyes read my words, my worlds. It’s strange to let you stories go, to publish them so that others can read them. I want to share my writing with others, I want them to enjoy my stories, to be able to escape, to be entertained, to relate. But with each story I release out into the world to be scrutinized by strange eyes, a tiny piece of me goes with them, and it is like these strangers are scrutinizing, appraising, critiquing me.
That is also why each negative comment or review that one of my stories or pieces of writing receives, it’s like a tiny paper cut to my soul. Because you’re not just writing a negative comment about the story, a bunch of words on some pages…because the story is part of me. It came from somewhere inside me
I know some writers will just roll their eyes at that and say to me, ‘you can’t take it so personally’. Perhaps. Maybe not so personally. But these stories are my stories. No one else’s, really. The worlds in my imagination belong to me, and no one else. I am a unique person on this planet (at least I think I am!) and so, any story I write is unique to me. They are the stories I choose to tell, out of the thousands, millions, infinite number of stories that exist in the universe. And so, these stories are special, to me, because I chose to tell them. That particular story, at that particular time, for whatever particular reason compelled me to write that story, and not some other story that is patiently sitting out there in the universe waiting for it’s turn to be written.
Without meandering down too philosophical a path now, that I seem to be venturing, I’ll leave this essay at this: I write because I like it. Because I like dreaming up stories and bringing them to life on paper (or, well, computer screen). I also write because I like to see the words ‘The End’ when I finish a story. It gives me a sense of accomplishment.