A while ago at a book festival, a writer said “Write for yourself. You can write for an audience but it’s always good to have something for yourself as well.”
Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I actually wrote something, but what consists of writing or being a writer? I always used to consider myself a writer until I heard the phrase “You are not a writer unless you write everyday” or some shit like that.
I used to write every single day when I was a pre-teen and in my teens. Writing to me now is something I feel like I shouldn’t touch or something I feel like I’m not ready for or something I should just forget about entirely. It’s hard to explain. I went from feeling that writing was apart of me to something I avoid because I am scared of uncovering those feelings.
Maybe I forgot about the good stuff, the stuff I liked about writing. I loved world-building and creating characters, creating stories that were just for me. When I started writing, it was for myself but also for my friend and the audience that I had built. I wrote One Direction fanfiction that was never completed, poetry that was sickly sweet and just anything to get these thoughts of characters and places out of my head.
Characters became friends and settings became an escape to me till they didn’t anymore. I hung out with my classmates and got into relationships and just stopped writing and stopped thinking creatively. I put down my pen and my paintbrush and picked up my phone and tv remote instead. Fast forward to now in 2025, those friendships and relationships ceased and I got addicted to the endless scrolling on my phone and watching tv shows and movies, that was my escape. A couple years back I got back into reading and have stuck with it since.
I think I want to try again.
Writing used to be my passion, my spark. I went to writing summer camps, I would share my works with anyone I could. I took creative writing classes in college and even got my first piece published. I majored in Creative Writing till I got academically suspended and everything seemed to fall apart.
I’ve been slowly picking up the pieces and I want to try again. I want to write something for myself. So this is me trying— not for a grade, not to be published, not for anyone else but myself.
I spoke to another creative about this, about how I’ve been in one big creative block for years now and how I felt like I couldn’t consider myself a writer anymore. She told me “Give it time, perhaps you’re just not ready to share those words or worlds with others yet. Be patient and kind to yourself.”
Please be patient and kind to yourself, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
