I'm Not a Writer

As a kid, I wrote almost as often as I blinked. In the margins of papers meant to express how I got to my math answers on a test, in the notebook my mother bought for history class, and my sisters' notebooks (also, briefly on the walls where I thought no one would see)(my mother saw...). My point is I felt like I was not only bound to be a writer, but I was having a grand time practicing day in and day out.

I would like to give a moment of silence to the lost documents of my childhood that did not get backed up before the laptop crash of like '11.

Okay. Back to how I screwed up my dreams.

Well, I continued writing and telling myself I would make it big, but not necessarily putting fame and money over my work. I genuinely enjoyed just writing, and was content with the knowledge that at least 65% of my stories (poems, quick dialogue written on napkins, short stories, novel ideas...) wouldn't make it to anywhere anyone else could read them. Heck, I'd complete something and not even read them (still have dozens of notebooks I'd scan kind of, but haven't truly read).

Yet, as much as I enjoyed it...it began truly hurting me. I believe this was at the peak of Wattpad. I was not only reading material I thought would stand the test of time--one story did make it to shelves and was an awesome thriller, while the other stuff was fanfic I tried to enjoy without caring much for the artists--luckily I never read After--I was uploading stuff too. I had mild hopes of fame, that gradually overtook me.

I needed more attention than my mother could give. And she was never to read the stuff I wrote on wattpad or most of my other stuff due to content or because I knew she would just say it was "amazing" without any real feedback. I needed that feedback. I needed to know I was really good.

Over the years I continued to write, but then my pen felt heavier and heavier. I no longer wanted to waste my time with my words since I could never tell if I was truly any good, and no one else gave me validation. Besides, I hadn't completed anything yet or gotten as far as I did in those documents that lost their lives.

I tried telling myself..."You are a writer the same way you are a runner. You get up and run, you go to sleep after you write." (later I'll share more on how sometimes I doubt I can call myself a runner, so I started training for a marathon for vindication).

Over time

I'd swear off writing

like it was my ex

But, the next day

the pen and paper would be in bed with me

like it was my e---

okay, you get the point.

Anyway, I am now 23. I have been in two magazines. I have submitted to more than a few competitions, and even submitted my work to magazines on hopeful early mornings. I've written on Medium. I've written here. I am no longer in school, but can't stay away from that red history notebook to write in.

Before. I was content just writing. I had this itch and it was only scratched when--wait do you scratch an itch---I put that paper to pen. I needed to do it. That's what made me a writer. The simplicity. Writers Write.

But, the complexities made me not a writer. Writers NEED to write.

Do I have that need?

Sure, I pop out articles more often than not. Sure, I scribble on reciepts if there's nothing else around. Sure, I still love the idea of being a writer.

But, I don't feel the need anymore.

And it's because the pen is far too heavy. If I had to guess I'd say it weighs 6,003.05 lbs. And I don't bench that much.

And it's because I'm not content with 65% of my stories not being seen by others, especially when I've been making the effort of at getting 75% to everyone.

And it's because I'm making no money, or at least not enough (I've written over 50 things for Vocal and have less than $30 t0 show for it).

And making money does matter. At least when I look at a bill, and especially now when I look at my bank account.

Should it matter?

Is there any love for it anymore?

Was there ever any love for it at all?

I...I must've once loved it.

Right?

Like my ex?

Was I ever a writer?

And if so,

When?

And will I ever be again?

I wonder what you feel makes you a writer

Is it bad to want more money and fame?

Thank you for reading. Peace.