If I were to answer this, honestly I don’t know if it still is.
It seemed that it had been ages since I wrote my heart out and laid it flat on paper, ‘twas more than a month already since I published my second to the last piece of me. Although I was able to publish one recently, I felt that it was more of compliance sake rather than writing for the sake of writing.
By the way, what is the reason I’m writing? I already figured it more than a couple of times in the past and I never thought that I’d ask it once more, and that this time, I’m really hoping for some sound and convincing answers.
Of course the answer is, first and foremost, for me. I’m able to maintain my sanity by unloading the best of me, the glory of humanity, and all the filth and shit to a defenseless piece of paper. After putting my thoughts out in the open, I can now dissect which part of my thoughts is trivial, which is giving me some real problems or imaginary things just made up by the slyest mind.
Next reason why I’m writing is for other people. I have something to say valuable, something that will change the world, something to tell someone to ease things up, or to offer someone some unique view on a different unknown side.
So I am writing. Period. But why is it that something, can’t pinpoint what, just doesn’t feel right? I tried to assess it objectively but there’s just more queries to it than answers. Am I expecting to be a superstar with my pieces being revered around the world? I have to admit that I’m guilty of this. Who wouldn’t want his thoughts respected by others as much as he does?
Was I able to achieve my dreams, fantasies, and expectations with the things I already wrote about?
– I’m a certified sucker for pretty faces. And it remains just that, a certified sucker… The ladies in the orange and purple skirts are still larger than life realities, a distant star if you wish. I am still “uncool” by today’s standards and I am not yet a chick magnet like Jun Bogart though I’m dying hard to be. I still have to be behind my sunglasses to be able to look at beautiful women without having interruptions or at least in order not to receive a negative response.
– I’m funny and witty – says me and my wife – don’t expect for other names, there are just only two of us. Enough said.
– I still write my thoughts, no holds barred as much as possible. A lot of times though, I stand in my own way.
– I claimed to have understood and harnessed the power of quiet as elaborated by Susan Cain and yet there are times that I am dying in my own self-imposed lonesomeness. I still find myself at times wishing for a buzz, some noise, anything to break the silence. Music is good but a pair of headset and rock music won’t always do.
– Was I able to make lots of friends? No I did not. For one, I still and would always prefer anonymity both in the digital and actual world. In person, I’m not the bubbly type though I badly wanted to be a conversationalist especially to beautiful women. So I’m still alone. Such maybe is the price of being unique.
As Jeff Goins puts it, you have to find your tribe where a specific group of people is your audience, people who can relate to what you’re saying. It’s almost a year now (10 months to be exact) since signing in and broadcasting my thoughts to millions of people around the globe. For that duration, I’ve had a thousand hits and about 20 followers. I do appreciate those who took time to scan and read my blogs. And if only I can personally thank those who extended the effort of clicking the “Follow” button, I would have done it. Yes I know, that’s nothing compared to those who have colossal stats of tens of thousands of hits and thousands of followers. I don’t berate myself always. I take time to congratulate myself once in a while for taking the step forward and communicate myself and thus calling myself a writer. But I must admit that the gage I use upon myself is a tough and rough one.
So, who am I catering to? Who am I writing for? Where are those who belong to my tribe? Who are the ones who resonate the same tune as mine? Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll ever have one or be one.
One reason I write is to be able to affirm myself that I am not alone in this world. The aim is to find somebody else to talk to about the things we have in common: people who like rock and alternative music over pop and hip hop; some dude who, like me has frustrations with not having the killer charisma with women; someone who feels unique yet estranged and disconnected; someone who feels empowered when intoxicated.
I still feel alone maybe because the crowd I’m after is not into writing or reading blogs such that my message falls unto nothingness, lost in oblivion. And when it does make its way to a reader, it falls on ears that regard my message as something “extraterrestrial”.
Let’s face it: every writer needs to be affirmed that he made a connection to someone else. It’s that one indispensable truth that inspires him to persevere being original and in turn inspires others that it’s not only cool to be unique but that it’s essential.
I don’t know if writing still has something in store for me. I gave it my best shot and it gave something back as well, albeit smaller than what I expected.
Will I continue to use my God-given talent of writing? Yes. When I am able to put that demon to rest, to slay that monster inside, perhaps I’ll pick that pen and bleed again…