Writing: A Blessing or a Curse?

My passion for writing was blissfully slumbering for years

Way back when…

I loved writing stories as a youngling. It was the highlight of my day, dreaming up weird and wonderful tales. They invariably started with ‘once upon a time’ and followed typical fairytale-like lines. For sure, I’d be had up for plagiarism.

In my last year in primers, my school report declared I was ‘an independent writer with an abundance of ideas.’ In Grade one, I was deemed to have ‘an effective command of words’ and progressed to ‘showing concern for the mechanics of language’ in Grade three.

I’m glad I kept those reports — but what a shame I tossed all my precious, innocent work!

It was part and parcel to include an illustration with a story. I gave it my all, but I couldn’t draw for my life. I still can’t. I’ve learned to overcome my shortfall, especially as a teacher when illustrations can make an unfathomable subject more understandable way better than my preaching.

Thankfully, my students are always willing to take up the challenge of drawing a body, an axon, or a heart, and the eraser is my best friend. I’m the first to admit any five-year-old could draw a better stick figure than me.

I had perfectionist traits early on. As a kid, if I made one mistake when writing in pen, it was not acceptable to me to cross out the error; it looked too messy. I had to rip the page out and start all over again. As a result, I spent hours doing my homework — and my exercise books invariably fell apart as I destroyed the necessary bindings of the books.

Obsessive-Compulsive Behaviour? Yup! But, I’m not diagnosed with OCD. To some degree my perfectionist traits have persisted in my life; I’ve learnt to let some mistakes go, and it’s not the end of the world that there are imperfections. But when I find errors — especially grammatical or alignment ones — they glare at me, and I can’t stop myself from correcting them straight away.

Thank goodness for computer technology!

In high school, I loved English classes the most; it helped to have an enthusiastic and supportive teacher. We would dissect books and had free reign to offer opinions and insights into the works we were reading. I was a whizz at direct quotes and a master with the highlighter pen.

It was a stepping stone to my speech and drama days which took words into performance and boosted my confidence enormously.

More recently…

I never journaled until I was pregnant with my first child. I found a beautiful hand-bound book to record every milestone of my pregnancy. I religiously noted each twinge and kick with little thought that I was recording history.

I did the same for my following two pregnancies but I won’t deny the novelty wore off; it’s often the way. The first time around is exciting; the next, it’s like, ‘oh yeah — I remember this,’ and the last-born magically appeared with merely a few entries in his diary. I’ll blame that on the other two kids occupying my waking hours.

Those journals have become an immense source of pleasure, especially since I started writing online. My kids also enjoy reading them as adults, although the idea of them exiting into the world through my private parts is still a horrendous thought to them! I often refer to these in-the-moment handwritten entries when writing stories about them or looking for embarrassing stories to share on their birthdays.

It never occurred to me those random thoughts would become so precious.

After moving to Montréal, I wrote a weekly letter to my parents and faxed it to them. The unexpected bonus of doing this was that I now have a complete record of our first couple of years in our new life on the opposite side of the world. Letter writing is so out of vogue now; it’s such a shame!

Travel diaries were the one thing I was religious about since I started exploring the world as a young adult. They have been a wonderful reference tool for my writing and even have helped others plan trips to similar places. At the time, you think you will always remember a special place or moment, but in reality, you don’t.

Fast forward to obtaining my Bachelor’s in Vocational Education. I had to write a portfolio proving I had enough experience to qualify as a nursing instructor. I spent hours writing up my nursing career and enjoyed reliving those moments. I’d just had foot surgery, so it was the perfect distraction to allow my incision to heal and not be wasting time sitting idle with a plastered leg elevated.

I won’t deny it was painful — the writing, not my foot! In fact, at times I loathed it. But, in hindsight, it was a transition into a journey I didn’t even realize I was about to embark on.

Unbeknown to me, my portfolio was the beginning of my conscious passion for writing. I had spent hours writing assignments for university and was anal about ensuring my work made sense and flowed smoothly from one topic to the next.

When I dabbled in toastmasters for six months before Covid stopped any social activities, again I found myself relishing in words. It was one thing to prepare a speech and remember it, though. As much as I enjoyed the performance side of things, I did not like meeting on Zoom; I spent all day teaching online and handed in the towel soon after it was clear personal meetings were going to be out of the question for months to come.

Yet, I was still grasping for something that sang to me. Something to do that was meaningful and worthwhile. The penny dropped when I discovered Vocal Media and then Medium some months later. I’ve written several articles about my initial journey into writing and its obsessional distraction.

The now…

Although I’ve had many moments where I wonder why I’m here, spouting my irrelevant life for all to read, I love sharing my sentiments. It’s cathartic to rekindle memories, have an opinion and read other writers’ works. Writing has become part of my raison d’être.

I want the reader to share my emotions within my work. My pain, sorrow, fear, joy, pride and authenticity through the words I pen. I want them to laugh; to comment and to clap. And I want them to come back for more. Source

Of late, I have not been as active on the site as my day job has required my full attention. My stats have plummeted as a result, but it’s not the end of the world. It’s been frustrating not having the time to put fingers on the keyboard for personal pleasure, but I’ve curbed my angst, knowing that Medium will still be there when I have the time to publish.

It’s disappointing when some stories do really well and other content bombs; in my case, it’s usually the ones I have spent the most time on. The one thing I do know is that you get out of Medium what you put in. You can’t just write and run; engagement with other writers and readers is critical.

As I ponder this incredible journey, I only now truly realize I’ve always unwittingly been feeding this innate desire.

The future…

A lovely quote by Dinah Maria Craik sums up my feelings on writing. I view the art of putting words into stories as my friend. Some work, some don’t. I keep at it because I enjoy the process, the feedback and the camaraderie.

“A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one’s heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.”

For me, writing is a blessing, not a curse.

Writing has become my voice, my friend, my passion. Source

Watch this space!

Thanks to KL Simmons for her story which prompted me to write this one.