On How I Am Not a Writer

First post.  I am nervous.  Blogging is popular, and it seems I felt the need to jump on the bandwagon.

I want to write.  I feel sometimes that there is this passion to write inside of me.  I’m sure you’ve heard that before from many a writer.  I am not a writer.  I just want to be.

It is uncharacteristic of me to actually commence writing online when my yearning to be able to write involves this deep-rooted need to feel a pen in my hand, hear the scratch of it as I scribble on the paper on the table, see my handwriting fill the page.

It’s not really like that.  It goes something like this: I sit down with a pen, with paper.  I then commence staring at the paper for long periods.  Common for would-be someday writers, I assume.  Then I get annoyed with myself.  I think, “Oh for the love of  ****, this is not doing any good.  At least DOODLE on the page!”  And I do.

At the end of my “writing session”,  I am left with a lined piece of paper filled with doodles.  And not even GOOD doodles.  I don’t even know how to doodle well.  My doodles consist of squares retraced multiple times, circles shaded in randomly, and my own name written in every possible variation of my own handwriting that I can come up with.

That will make quite a book someday.


4 thoughts on “On How I Am Not a Writer

  1. I’m catching up on your blog today; advance apologies for filling your comment queue while I do. =)

    I realize this is a few months old, but I wanted to throw encouragement your way. Keep it up. I like what I’ve read!

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