I’ve been sitting here for an hour and a half looking at this blank screen. My original idea for this week just wasn’t coming out the way I had planned for it to, so I trashed it. I would start a new paragraph, type a few sentences, look at it and erase every last word. The farthest I got was about 75 words, and when I reread it, it sounded like a seven year old had written it. I typed multiple headlines. I thought of a plethora of topics I could write about, but in the end, the right words just refused to form into something great.
Somewhere along the way, I thought to myself, "What is the point?" I have so many other things to be doing right now. I have work in an hour, a chemistry quiz tomorrow, my hair still isn’t fixed, my room is dirty and I still have to write an article that I don’t have a topic for. Then I let the bitterness pass and I started thinking about my appreciation for words. I asked myself what the real reason that I write is. So now, I’m sitting here writing about writing, which feels a bit odd, but bear with me.
One of my favorite authors, Cassandra Clare, once wrote, “One must always be careful of books and what is inside them, for words have the power to change us.” The quote is from “Clockwork Angel.” (You won’t be disappointed if you go read it right now.) And that, right there, is one of the reasons I write. My deep appreciation and obsession with books has led me to understand that words do have the power to change us. Words give us the power to believe in something. They have the power to transport us to new worlds and take us on adventures. Books and articles and quotes have the ability to motivate us and lead us to some amazing things, and I write because I want to change someone’s life like my favorite authors (I’m talking about you Cassie Clare, John Green, Neal Shusterman and J.K. Rowling.) have changed mine.
When you are a person like me, someone who would rather bottle up emotions than tell someone, writing is the only thing that gets you through. There are times when my life gets too hectic for me to function, and it is in those moments that I find myself wandering to my desk with a pen in my hand. I just take off scribbling my feelings on to a blank page. I start writing, not even worrying about the flow of the sentences or if they make any sense at all because this simple act lets me get all of what I am feeling out. When I am stressed and panicked, the words come quick, and my hand can’t seem to move fast enough. When I am sad or hurt, the words come more slowly, and I take my time to write in cursive because it gives me a moment to reflect. And when I am happy or excited, the words flow freely and are written sloppily. I write because I have come to find that it doesn’t matter what you’re feeling, words will be there to accompany you through it all.
I’ve learned that the pages won’t tell my secrets, and they won’t judge me for my feelings, so writing has become my outlet. It calms me down and lets my mind breathe for a minute. When I write, I’m the only person in this little world of mine. The pages seem to envelope me, and that is where I am the most confident in myself.
