I miss writing.

Yes, I miss writing. That sounds a bit vague, though, because I still get to write, especially through blogging and with some of my classes. Well then, creative writing, in particular. I especially miss those instances wherein I would be stuck in a particular chapter in my story, unable to proceed, and wanting to bang my head into the wall until it bursts . . . just to have the right piece fit into the puzzle. When those moments occur, of course I would feel down and quite discouraged. I would begin to question my credibility as a writer, or if ever I really had the capacity to be one.

Frustrating and depressing times. But when you managed to hurl yourself over that lofty fence, then the feeling afterwards would be overwhelming. Just thinking that you got over such an enormous predicament is enough to make you feel giddy and hopeful. 

I miss every second of the times when I was still writing actively - inventing short stories, continuing my novels, imagining different worlds . . . They seemed like such a long time ago. I remember being inside the shower longer than I was supposed to be just because I was trying to weave my stories. At nights as well, when I was already curled up and ready to sleep, I would first try to think of what would happen in the next chapter. I would try to fix things and hone a character's personality.

Those were like eons ago.

And come to think of it, while I have been writing since I was a child, I only started writing in English when I was fourteen. Now I am seventeen. It's been only three succinct years, and yet so many things happened.

I remember that one glorious summer where all I did was continue writing my first biggest project yet - a novel. The first chapter itself had undergone eleven drafts. And the first one was entirely distinct from the last, they seemed to be different stories altogether. I was never idle, because all I had to do was think of my story.

I miss doing that. I really do.

Now, when I have a free time, I would not be thinking of my stories. I would be thinking of my blog. Don't get me wrong, I like blogging. But forgetting myself as a creative writer is just not right.

Mental Block at its Finest

I've been staring on the MS Word screen for what seemed like a long time now. Thirty minutes? One hour? Three hours? I haven't kept track of time. Albeit it is absolutely stressing and irking whenever mental block would intervene while I was writing my novel, the problem will be more massive when it decides to attack when I'm supposed to write an assignment.

I need to write a letter for my expert interview, and it's due on the 19th. My brain is bleeding, clueless, and desperate to have this work done. Unfortunately, though, I just can't. What am I supposed to write, anyway? How was I supposed to converse with an "expert"?

Seriously. Ask me to write a poem, an essay, or even a short story. But not a formal letter. 

Why write?

I’ve always questioned myself why I am writing. Why write? That’s one thing that would pop in my head every now and then. I write multitudes of stuffs – novels, articles, short stories, plays, poems, fan fiction . . . and even on each of those, there was an even wider range of things. In fiction, I write in different  genres – science fiction, romance, fantasy, adventure, horror, dystopian, futuristic, historical. It basically encompasses anything. But why?

There are only five reasons that I can think of.

I write because writing is my passion.

I write because writing has become a part of me.

I write because I love it.

I write because it is the best way where I can express myself.

I write because it’s a hobby, even though no one reads my stories.

Oh, now I’ve thought of a perfect name for my blog:

The Teenaged Girl Who Writes Stories No One Ever Reads