I’m not sure what considers you a writer in this world. We all live by labels. Many of us would say blogging does not make me a writer, it just makes me some random person in this world of never ending lives who shares their story. If you do not have a published book, if you do not work for a magazine, if you don’t have a column, if you just write to write and that’s it, how can you call yourself a writer? Anyone can buy a domain and give it some unique name to catch attention and write down their days. Bada bing bada boom – get to typing, new born ‘writer!’
I spend half (or more) of my life writing. Writing on the internet, on my iphone notes app, in the notebook I carry with me everywhere, during the middle of a barre class, at lunch alone. I’m very old school, I like to write on paper first. I write every day, numerous times. I live my day without thinking about writing. Then I write. I write it all down.
I write what I see, what I feel, what I thought, how my day ended, what I learned, what confused me, what I disliked, what I loved, and more. Much more. It’s part of my lifestyle and always has been. I still have “diaries” from when I was 10 years old – shoutout to my 1st grade crush, you made the OG pen and paper memories forever. It’s locked with a small key which is attached to a homemade colorful beaded bracelet no one can find – don’t worry. Your secret of placing a 50 cent ring you got out of a grocery store toy machine (that turned my finger green) into my backpack that was safely placed in the cubby corner when I wasn’t looking is safe with me. And now the rest of my readers.
Ever heard of David Sedaris? If you haven’t, he’s a writer. And he has a book called Theft by Finding Diaries (1977-2002) where he shares what he wrote in his dairy, daily. It’s literally a book of his diary posts. For me, that’s intriguing, and I highly recommend it if you’re into getting lost in someone else’s mind for a minute.
I do this writing thing because I enjoy it. It’s almost like my cup of tea. It’s my comfort, my melody, my favorite thing in the world to sit down and do.
That doesn’t mean I’m a professional writer, because in all honesty, I’m not. Right now, at least.
There’s nothing professional about the notebook that I call my side piece. The notebook I would rip my own pinky off to get back if it got stolen. The notebook I consider one of my own; my unborn child. A damn notebook. No profession, just a pen. No label, just me.
I’m not sure what I consider myself – a passionate story teller, a girl who enjoys Barnes and Noble more than most stores, a writer, a blogger, a hygienist with a notebook, a content creator, a random person who is lost so writes it down. I’m not sure, at all. I’m not sure what other people consider me, and I’m not too worried. The labels, they’re all too much.
I think about it sometimes. So I write about it. Of course.
All I’m truly sure about is that I do consider myself a writer. Whether that’s for me, for you, or for no one. I write, and I consider myself my own personal writer.
Whatever you consider yourself, try to take the leap into writing. Become a writer, for yourself. Try keeping a notebook and a pen with you. Or just your iPhone, whichever you prefer. Consider writing down your day, or even once a week. Consider keeping something where you spit your thoughts down faster than you can speak them.
Why? Glad you asked.
Because no matter what you are in this world, no matter who gives you a label, no matter your profession, you can be your own writer. No matter if you like writing or not, keeping a journal helps to relive your days. It helps to unwind, rewind, rethink. You will reread, or you won’t. Who cares. Maybe one day, ten years from now, you will pick the words up out of nowhere. Maybe they will get thrown in the trash with the rotten peach you promised yourself you’d eat if you bought. Who knows, but you will go to bed with your thoughts on a piece of paper instead of traffic jammed in your mind.
My notebook is messy; it’s unorganized and all over the place. Random sentences and words, maybe that only I can understand and re-laugh at, but it puts me at ease. It helps me to calm myself – like mediation for the brain.
You don’t have to be good at it (whatever the hell that means), you don’t have to even share it. You can keep it locked up and pushed aside in your night stand or under your underwear in the top drawer of your dresser. You can share it, if you please, or you can hold it hostage. You can write one sentence or you can write a million and ten. It doesn’t matter, because it’s yours.
My tip of the day would be to consider it, if anything. Try it. It’s good to try new things. You may sleep better.
I sure as hell do.
Any tips? Any other secret writers out there?
P.S. thank you to my readers, my favorites. The ones who continue to show me how much I love sharing my unorganized random thoughts. X
Here’s my favorite notebook to get you going.