blogging

D(r)aft Glory

“Authenticity” – That’s a word I like to through around ever so casually. Especially when it comes to writing. I frequently catch myself saying things like “unapologetic, raw, honest”. They roll off my tongue like the lyrics to my favorite song. Easy and well rehearsed.

Yet when asked about my blog, when writing, when socializing, even when getting dressed in the morning, I constantly find myself floating around in the metaphorical “draft” section of life. Just waiting, checking, rewriting, tip-toeing around my flaws until we see ourselves fit for publishing, influenced by our surroundings and the idea of how we think others perceive us.

Proofreading and editing ourselves to make sure we don’t sound too sad, that we don’t act too clingy, that we aren’t talking too much or too little. That we aren’t wearing too much or not enough. That we share too much or we’re too closed off. Ricocheting between what if’s and could have’s and maybes and maybe not’s.

So – Note to self and anyone else who has been keeping up with my incoherent trains of thought and ramblings. Post the drafts. Whatever your draft entails. Cause lately it has been far more terrifying trying to avoid error.

Things aren’t always good, things aren’t always bad either, but I know it’s a whole lot easier when you stop constantly wondering if what you do or say or think or write is good enough. Life is too short to wait until things are neatly typed out and polished, because I don’t think it ever will be. Instead, it’s a dozen papers lying around with a hundred thoughts, ideas, coffee stains and different colors from all the different pens that decide to run out of ink mid sentence.

And if we fuck up – that’s okay. Make mistakes. Let people question what you say. Learn from your mistakes, make them a few more times and listen when people tell you what’s on their minds. Tell them what’s on yours. Change your mind, change your plans and talk about things you don’t understand. I promise you aren’t the only one that doesn’t know exactly what they want or exactly what they are doing, but at least you’re doing something.

Bad at Blogging (and other things).

I lit a candle to ‘get in the mood’. The mood of a ‘writer’. I’m not quite sure what this mood entails, but somehow the closest thing to it, I thought, was a jasmine scented candle, which is now flickering next to the very bright light-bulb-charged bedside lamp.

“I write because, uhm, I can’t not write”. –  This sentence sat comfortably on the blank page in front of me for a fair amount of time. I laughed at how my own lumpy sentence seemed to be taunting me with its isolation, as if shouting “You don’t even know why you write, lol”. Charles Bukowski said, “There is nothing more magic and important than lines forming on paper. It’s all there is. It’s all there ever was”. I laughed again at my sentence and thought of how easy it would be if I could just repeat Bukowski’s sentence to anyone and everyone who asks me why I write (an easy cop out, I am aware).

The truth is though, ever since I can recall, my best days ended with the need to record the day’s events. Be it on the fragrance paper of my primary school diary, or the jotted down thoughts of a confused adolescent on perforated paper. Paper stuffed in the back of drawers and hidden behind a pile of clothes in messy cupboards. So, that’s what I do. I write, and my stories are messy and unpredictable and boring and happy and depressing and sometimes ordinary. Sometimes so beautiful I am left in awe.

I don’t know how to say the right words, my sentences are awkward and long, and I ramble about sadness too often. It’s senseless. Confusing. Grammatically incorrect. Awkward. Real.  Dwelling in every single emotion, saying things I don’t mean, being confused and feeling it and dealing with it. Whether the stories to follow are from personal experiences or about people halfway across the world. I want to write them and I want you to read them.