“Writers are not just people who sit
down and write. They hazard themselves. Every time you compose a book your
composition of yourself is at stake.” – E.L. Doctorow.
Everybody has a
different writing process. My writing process is hazarding myself. To me,
writing is amazingly beautiful, enchanting, expressive, and absolutely terrifying.
It is the beginning of the writing process that scares me. It is starting, and
knowing how to start. It would be unacceptable for me to just sit down and
write, with no regards to the consequences. I also begin to fear the end. I am
utterly terrified that what I write will not satisfy me, that it will not be
good enough. Every piece of my writing is a reflection of myself, and so I must
work to make it as perfect as I can. I must make it something that I can be
satisfied with, something that I can think about its existence in the world
without cringing.
Finally, after trying to calm down and probably
procrastinating a bit more that I should, I put my illogical fears aside, and
begin. I look over the assignment, and I make a mental map of what I want it to
look like. Depending on the type of writing, I may jot down a few lines or
phrases that I think I might want to include later. Then, I sit in silence
alone and think. I like silence. I like being alone. I like to think. I usually
sit in my favorite comfortable purple chair, my black desk, or just on a couch,
depending on what kind of writing I am doing. I prefer this stage to be done in
one sitting, if possible. I let the words come together to me as constellations
appear in the night sky. And all of a sudden, in a rush of passion, I write. I
write, before I can change my mind, as much as I can about what I have planned.
I then throw caution to the wind, and start to write things before I can think
about them. I am not afraid anymore, because now I am in control. Writing now
feels wonderful, like driving a car really, really fast. Even though my entire composition of myself is at stake, I do not want to ever
stop. But as I must, I do.
Then I look at the Thing that I have
created. It is staring me right back in the face, and daring me to make it
better. By this time I am too far gone. There is no return. So I do it. I make
it better. Now, I consciously think about what I am doing. I do not make any
major changes to the paper; however, as I revise, I pay more attention to
things like structure, word choice, and clarifying. Without any fear, I take those
words and I shove them around and I hack them apart and I glue things onto the
end. And then I smooth it all out and somehow seamlessly sew it all together.
In the end, when it is all there, I
start to like it. At this point, however, it is still too personal to let
anybody else see it. After all, I do share a secret with it. I smile to see
that it is just sitting there, looking harmless, as if it had always been
there. As if it is only itself. But it is not just itself. In a way, it is just
my own thoughts in a physical form. It is me. Only I know the truth. I am the
only one who knows how I created it. No one else can come in between that. And
with that in mind, I somehow prepare myself for the inevitable: that I actually
have to turn in the writing assignment. I actually care about what I have
written, and I don’t want it to get hurt. What if someone says it is not good
enough? What if someone tries to kill it? And mostly, what if my baby bird does
not fly at all? But I know, deep down, that no one else can harm it. I created
it, and only I have the power to bring it down. By letting it be seen by
someone else, I am not risking its death, but I am giving it a chance at life. I love it, and so I set it free. At the
end, after it has been sanded down and polished, it is something I am proud of.
I have actually created this, out of words. Out of the same words available to
everybody, I have created something that is uniquely me. When I complete
something, it is the most amazing feeling. All those hours of terror, and then
of inspiration, passion, and work were all worth it. I took a chance and I
wrote, and I loved it.
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