For the past coupla days, I've been having really insightful convos with a colleague on life, love and everything in between. It's really made me look at myself and see the core of the person that I am. But that's a discussion for another post. What I realized from all the talks is that each and every time we ended our conversations, what I wanted to do was recount our discussions in words. I wanted to be able to remember the thoughts, opinions, theories and whatnot by committing them as a visual reminder. I wanted to be able to capture the spirit of those conversations, to eloquate the catalyst that brought it about. I wanted to record the details down so it would always have its place in my memory. And that's when it clicked. Writing is something that I have always been passionate about.
I have always had a love of the written word. My most absolutely favourite activity is not shopping, as it might suggest based on the posts I've done, but reading. I am a vociferous reader. It's an addiction. I go through about 5-6 books a month on average but during some manic times, I can go through 3-4 books a week. In that respect, reading has opened my mind and imagination to write. My first recollection of writing (for fun) was when I was 10. Inspired by all the books I've read, I decided to try my hand at short stories. From that point on, I began to build a collection of short fiction, some inspired by books I've read, some by my own personal experiences. By the time I was graduating high school, I had managed to have 30 complete short stories. Out of the 30, I shared only 6. Some were sent in as my assignments, some were submitted (and published) for my school newspaper and one was even entered for a short story competition (I didn't place, just received honourable mention, but the experience was worth it). During my pre-u studies, I was approached by the yearbook committee for essay contributions and ended up with 2 of my articles published.
After getting into university, I took a sabbatical (of sorts) from writing. Well, it just got waylaid. At that point in my life, I was going through the whole college experience. Feeling the excitement of independance, I wasn't about to slave away in front of my computer to write about life when I could go out and do life. My passion for reading didn't abate but my love of writing did wane. I was more into experiencing rather than writing about the experience. It's something that I look back upon and regret slightly for never having taken the time to record my thoughts during those years.
Once I got my degree, I found that I had some spare time during my job hunts. I started writing again. Mainly an electronic diary of sorts. This time, it wasn't so much fiction writing. I focused my writings on myself, my surroundings and the world at large. If I felt an issue affected me, I would express it. It became an outlet for me to articulate my thoughts. I didn't necessarily need an audience for my jottings, merely me, myself and I sufficed. And it's at that end that we are here today. I don't need an audience to be able to write. I don't need people other than myself to read the things that I feel need expressing. I'm ok with nothing I've ever written from this point on to be acknowledged by anybody but myself. Because, although writing is a way of sharing a part of yourself to other people, I am more than alright if the only person my writings is shared with is me. I write for myself, first and foremost. It's mainly a way to sort through the rubble that is my thoughts. It's my therapy. I'm inundated by soooo many thoughts throughout the day that I need a way to express them or they'll do my head in. That's why writing has become my passion. It isn't as a means to earn a living nor to gain fame but merely an outlet of expression.
And on that note, I want to celebrate 'The Inner Working of A Frivolous Mind'. Happy One Year Anniversary! You made it through your first year and it's been wonderful. I can only hope that you and I will still be here for many more to come!
I have always had a love of the written word. My most absolutely favourite activity is not shopping, as it might suggest based on the posts I've done, but reading. I am a vociferous reader. It's an addiction. I go through about 5-6 books a month on average but during some manic times, I can go through 3-4 books a week. In that respect, reading has opened my mind and imagination to write. My first recollection of writing (for fun) was when I was 10. Inspired by all the books I've read, I decided to try my hand at short stories. From that point on, I began to build a collection of short fiction, some inspired by books I've read, some by my own personal experiences. By the time I was graduating high school, I had managed to have 30 complete short stories. Out of the 30, I shared only 6. Some were sent in as my assignments, some were submitted (and published) for my school newspaper and one was even entered for a short story competition (I didn't place, just received honourable mention, but the experience was worth it). During my pre-u studies, I was approached by the yearbook committee for essay contributions and ended up with 2 of my articles published.
After getting into university, I took a sabbatical (of sorts) from writing. Well, it just got waylaid. At that point in my life, I was going through the whole college experience. Feeling the excitement of independance, I wasn't about to slave away in front of my computer to write about life when I could go out and do life. My passion for reading didn't abate but my love of writing did wane. I was more into experiencing rather than writing about the experience. It's something that I look back upon and regret slightly for never having taken the time to record my thoughts during those years.
Once I got my degree, I found that I had some spare time during my job hunts. I started writing again. Mainly an electronic diary of sorts. This time, it wasn't so much fiction writing. I focused my writings on myself, my surroundings and the world at large. If I felt an issue affected me, I would express it. It became an outlet for me to articulate my thoughts. I didn't necessarily need an audience for my jottings, merely me, myself and I sufficed. And it's at that end that we are here today. I don't need an audience to be able to write. I don't need people other than myself to read the things that I feel need expressing. I'm ok with nothing I've ever written from this point on to be acknowledged by anybody but myself. Because, although writing is a way of sharing a part of yourself to other people, I am more than alright if the only person my writings is shared with is me. I write for myself, first and foremost. It's mainly a way to sort through the rubble that is my thoughts. It's my therapy. I'm inundated by soooo many thoughts throughout the day that I need a way to express them or they'll do my head in. That's why writing has become my passion. It isn't as a means to earn a living nor to gain fame but merely an outlet of expression.
And on that note, I want to celebrate 'The Inner Working of A Frivolous Mind'. Happy One Year Anniversary! You made it through your first year and it's been wonderful. I can only hope that you and I will still be here for many more to come!
