Write first for yourself...
You have to write for yourself...
A strong statement isn't it but I'd like you to ponder it for a moment.. How does it make you feel to see your thoughts and imagination come to life - How does it feel when your reach or your sales stall? To dig deeper, you need to ask yourself "Why do I write?" The answers will present themselves in front of you...
Writing is like breathing for me—a natural rhythm that pulls the chaos of my mind into something tangible, something real. When I sit down to write, it’s not just about stringing words together; it’s about watching my thoughts and imagination unfurl. There’s a quiet thrill in seeing a fleeting idea—a spark of emotion, a half-formed story, or a nagging question—take shape on the screen of my laptop. It’s as if I’m sculpting something from nothing, giving form to the invisible. That moment when the words click, when they capture exactly what I meant, feels like magic. It’s a high, a rush of creation that reminds me I’m alive and capable of making something that didn’t exist before.
It's also tempting to say I write for the connection—to share ideas, to spark something in someone else’s mind. And that’s true. There’s nothing like getting a comment or a message from a reader who says, “This hit me hard,” or “I needed this today.” It’s proof that my words reached across the void and touched someone. But to be honest, that’s not the whole story. I write for myself. I write to make sense of the world, to untangle the mess of thoughts that swirl in my head. Writing is my way of pinning down the fleeting, of making the abstract concrete. It’s a mirror I hold up to myself, reflecting who I am, what I fear, what I hope for. When I write, I’m not just creating for others—I’m discovering myself. Each poem, each sentence, is a step toward understanding why I think the way I do, why I feel the way I feel. Basically, I write simply for the release of what aches to be set free.
But then there’s the other side—the stall. The moments when the reach dwindles, or when sales don’t budge. It’s like shouting into a void and hearing nothing back. The silence stings. It’s not just about numbers; it’s the sinking feeling that maybe my words aren’t landing, that they’re not resonating. It makes me question if I’m shouting the wrong words or if I’m shouting at all. I'm sure, like many, those moments become a time to pause, to sit with the discomfort and ask: Why does this matter so much?
That’s when the real work begins. It’s easy to write when the likes are rolling in, when the shares are climbing. But when the numbers don’t move, I have to ask myself: Am I still writing for me, or am I chasing approval? The truth is, the stalls teach me resilience. They remind me that writing isn’t just about the outcome—it’s about the act itself. It’s about showing up, putting words on the page, even when no one’s watching. Because every time I do, I’m proving to myself that I have something to say, whether the world hears it or not. Having chosen to start this blog reiterates this very fact, a commitment made to write for others and not just for my release. It's about finding balance.
So, I keep writing. For the joy of seeing my imagination come to life for over a decade. For the clarity it brings to my own mind. For the chance, however small, that my words might spark something in someone else. And when the stalls come—as they always do—I’ll keep asking myself, “Why do I write?” The answers are there, waiting on the page, ready to be shaped into something new.
~ yours in ink ML
It's also tempting to say I write for the connection—to share ideas, to spark something in someone else’s mind. And that’s true. There’s nothing like getting a comment or a message from a reader who says, “This hit me hard,” or “I needed this today.” It’s proof that my words reached across the void and touched someone. But to be honest, that’s not the whole story. I write for myself. I write to make sense of the world, to untangle the mess of thoughts that swirl in my head. Writing is my way of pinning down the fleeting, of making the abstract concrete. It’s a mirror I hold up to myself, reflecting who I am, what I fear, what I hope for. When I write, I’m not just creating for others—I’m discovering myself. Each poem, each sentence, is a step toward understanding why I think the way I do, why I feel the way I feel. Basically, I write simply for the release of what aches to be set free.
But then there’s the other side—the stall. The moments when the reach dwindles, or when sales don’t budge. It’s like shouting into a void and hearing nothing back. The silence stings. It’s not just about numbers; it’s the sinking feeling that maybe my words aren’t landing, that they’re not resonating. It makes me question if I’m shouting the wrong words or if I’m shouting at all. I'm sure, like many, those moments become a time to pause, to sit with the discomfort and ask: Why does this matter so much?
That’s when the real work begins. It’s easy to write when the likes are rolling in, when the shares are climbing. But when the numbers don’t move, I have to ask myself: Am I still writing for me, or am I chasing approval? The truth is, the stalls teach me resilience. They remind me that writing isn’t just about the outcome—it’s about the act itself. It’s about showing up, putting words on the page, even when no one’s watching. Because every time I do, I’m proving to myself that I have something to say, whether the world hears it or not. Having chosen to start this blog reiterates this very fact, a commitment made to write for others and not just for my release. It's about finding balance.
So, I keep writing. For the joy of seeing my imagination come to life for over a decade. For the clarity it brings to my own mind. For the chance, however small, that my words might spark something in someone else. And when the stalls come—as they always do—I’ll keep asking myself, “Why do I write?” The answers are there, waiting on the page, ready to be shaped into something new.
~ yours in ink ML
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