Writing: The Identity Crisis

The long drawn out paragraphs.  The brutally honest opinions.  The often uncomfortable personal emotions. Yes, we have all seen it before—the Facebook status. Between voicing political and religious views, or a bad breakup, many people use Facebook as their own personal diary.  While some posts get hundreds of “likes” others receive none.  When a status gets a “like” it provides the writer with validation that someone has appreciated his or her opinion.  While people have no problem employing one hundred percent honesty on social media outlets such as Facebook or Twitter, it seems as if that same righteousness is not engaged in all forms of writing.  While I certainly have no problem broadcasting who I really am in my 140 character tweets, I most defiantly find it more challenging to remain true to myself in all forms of writing. For me, writing always had an implication of judgment.  Although Facebook and Twitter undoubtedly provoke judgment, it still feels less risky and is easier to write from the heart.  I write because it has the ability to evoke emotion, push social norms, and unleash our creative ability.

It took me a while to realize I was already a writer.  In forth grade I wrote a history paper that stayed on the fridge for a year and a half and by sixth grade I was the queen of AOL instant messenger away messages.  At this point in my life, I was not concerned with receiving a good grade or saying what I thought I had to in order to fit in. My hatred towards writing arose when assignments began to be labeled as “writing.” Similar to food that tastes delicious before you realize what ingredients are inside, writing was fun and carefree till it I realized what it really consisted of.  My enjoyment was shattered after the start of the dreaded five-paragraph essay, countless grammar rules that I could never seem to memorize, and the rubric that made my writing feel as confined as a jail.  Writing was no longer freeing and pleasurable, it in fact became my worst nightmare.  Thus began the slow and painful death of my love for writing.

As a browsed the LSA course guide attempting to find a somewhat enjoyable topic for my required English 125 class, I was shocked to see a topic on Kanye West’s “College Dropout” album.  It was during this semester that I began to remember why I enjoyed writing so long ago.  The pivotal moment in this discovery was when I was writing an essay on Kanye West’s song “Spaceship.”  After spending hours analyzing the lyrics and looking for deeper meanings and connections, I started to put my ideas on the paper. As my essay progressed, I realized that I had learned something from myself as I wrote.  My essay was full of complexity and creativity and was the first piece of my own writing that ever had the ability to make me think. I turned in the paper without the slightest concern of how it would be graded because frankly I was too proud of it to care. I learned that I write to learn from myself.

I actually enjoyed writing papers for Writing 125, and it opened my eyes to what topics I actually enjoyed writing about.  The summer following my year of writing revelations, I was able to combine my newfound interests (music and writing) into an internship at Eagle Rock Entertainment in London.  As one of the largest producers and distributors of music programming for television, DVD, and digital media I was able to see if I had found a potential career.  Throughout my internship experience, I had chances to explore different parts of the company.  About two weeks into my internship, I was given the task of writing synopsis of episodes of “Behind The Music.” It was soon recognized that this task was something I enjoyed and excelled at. While I absolutely enjoyed my experience writing about music, I couldn’t help but to wonder what other genres of writing would spark my interest.

While writing about topics that I am knowledgeable and comfortable with are certainly agreeable, I notice the most self-growth when the topic of writing makes me uneasy.  One topic that made me particularly uneasy was when I had to write a response to Eve Ensler’s “ The Vagina Monologues” in a Comparative Literature class.  The assignment was not a simple reflection or summary of what we had read, but actually asked us to write our own Vagina Monologue.  At first this topic felt bizarre and uncomfortable.  Not only did we have to turn this piece of writing into our Professor, but we were also required to read it out loud to our entire class.  I felt immense pressure while writing this paper because I knew that I would have to share such a personal narrative with all of my peers.  However, I actually felt liberated when I heard my own words out loud.  Writing on such a personal topic allowed me to push social norms and share my personal thoughts with my fellow classmates.

I have a hard time determining what it is that motivates me to write. I still need a little push in order to find the inspiration to write, which usually derives from a class assignment.  I am optimistic that one day the inspiration will come from myself, and I will write for the sheer gratification.  However, until that day comes I would feel dishonest considering myself as a writer.  Writers are people that I have put on a pedestal; their writing put me to bed at night throughout my child hood, opened my imagination, and inspired me to do the same.  These talented individuals do not write what they think others want to hear, but rather what they want others to think after reading it.  Although I have produced work that I am proud of, I have yet to find use for it outside the classroom.  As I grow as a writer, I hope that I can discover a broader audience for my writing.

I have dreams of becoming a published author: an author that can open a child’s imagination and inspire them the same way that I was. My infatuation with writing a children’s book series began when I started babysitting in high school.  Most of the children I babysat begged for a book before I put them to sleep.  One book led to another and before I knew it I had read a child almost ten books.  I found myself engrossed in the illustrations and simple messages that were taught to the child through a simple plot line.  As I read these books, I found myself thinking of alternative endings or ways that I think the book could have been better or more engaging.  Thus, I asked myself: why can’t I write this book?

I have thought of plenty ideas for children’s book series, but find myself getting caught up in the uncertainty of the unknown process.  I am scared of the unknown, but how will I ever be a writer if I don’t start somewhere? I am confident in my ability to write a book, but I am unconfident about how to begin.  I have started by a simple word document on my computer with ideas about what I would like to write about.  Every once in a while I open this document; in hopes that maybe I will start the process on one of these ideas.  Each time, I close the document feeling discouraged and mad at myself for not trusting myself more.  However discouraged I may feel now, I am confident that one day I will feel inspired enough to sit down and follow through with writing a children’s book.

My future is still hazy, as it has become challenging to cluster all of my diverse interests into a singular career.  Now that writing has become such a large part of my academic and personal life, I can’t imagine finding a profession that does not include it. Writing is what makes me think, what makes me care, and what I hope can make a difference.  Through my journey as a writing minor, I hope to find the inner motivation to write for myself and not for others.  I am confident that I will be exposed to other genres and topics of writing that may spark an interest that I would have never imagined.  Writing 220 is giving me the rare chance to strive to enhance my writing, not my GPA. As I advance as a writer, I plan to view each writing opportunity as a blank Facebook status.  While I do hope that it receives “likes,” I am more concerned with being true to myself.