Everything I Learned about Writing

There is nothing easier than letting thoughts flow through the end of a pen, or a pencil, or even the tips of your fingers as they navigate through a jumbled but familiar arrangement of keys. But there is nothing harder than harnessing that flow into a stream of meaning. Who is your audience? Why is this worth my time? Does it have conflict and resolution? Can we identify with the voice of the character? I have learned you have to allow a little voice to sit on your shoulder and question your self worth. It is the same little voice that directs your moral compass, the same voice that brings about feelings of regret. Sometimes she comes as your mother, hinting at the importance of broccoli. Sometimes she’s your best girlfriend, smiling at you as you pick your nose. Much of the time you can’t even know who she is, but you feel her snicker at the small puddle of drool on your pillow in the morning, or whispering about the outfit you’ve chosen on your birthday. To be a writer is to be self-indulgent and self-centered enough to believe that some one else, another person, would actually be interested in what you have to express. But then, it is to engage in enough self-critique and inner anxiety that no one can pick you apart more than yourself. Writing is a process. I like to think of chocolate milk––the mixing of dark indulgences, the wonderful bubbles that can be blown from the surface, and the ruckus it makes in the world of the beverage. Writing is the constant swirling of thoughts, and eventually the small splashes that may or may not stain the tablecloth as a result. I will always be a writer. I cannot help but fuel the small voice on my shoulder who keeps telling me to blow bubbles in my chocolate milk.