Proclamation of Intent

Writing has steadied me during times of great emotional upheaval. I write to make sense of my internal world, and I have found that it usually helps. Even though I have enjoyed writing, I have had long periods of hiatus in my writing journey. And every time, I come back to it, as if to a former lover. 

Every such return to writing has been a homecoming, a quiet "Welcome home". The familiarity wraps me around in a warm embrace. Building new routines in an old place brings excitement. Revisiting pieces I wrote earlier is like finding old photo albums: a kind of time travel. As with any homecoming, there is often guilt and sadness in not visiting often enough, in forgetting the love that waited.

Writing, for me, is an intimate act, a window into the inner workings of the mind.  Therefore, I do experience a hesitation in opening up my writing for a wider audience. Writing for public consumption creates a compulsion to please, a pressure I do not feel ready for. 

Still, I have taken baby steps  in making my writing visible. One is this blog, which is a container for my writing. It is a chronicle of what I have written, and a public record that is accessible from anywhere. Another step is sharing such writing with a small group of trusted readers. In a moment of self-recognition a few months ago, I took yet another step in changing the name of the blog, from something self-deprecating to something neutral. A quiet act in owning the writer part of my identity. 

I intend to continue to write for myself. Should the opportunity arise for me to share it with the world, I would gladly do so. Have I harbored dreams of becoming a published author some day? Sure, who hasn't? Do I want it now more than before? I certainly do. Am I doing what it takes to sharpen my craft? Not really. 

What does it take to sharpen my craft? More writing. Therefore, I shall write. I am going to write everyday. At least for half hour. It could take the shape of a poem, a journal entry (not the accounting kind), a partially written blog post, or something that would never see the light of day. I might even revisit an earlier piece, rip it to pieces and rewrite a new one. I have a feeling it might sometimes take the form of just staring at a blank page forever. 

But write I shall. Because it matters. It matters that I have a dream of one day publishing something that people want to read. It matters that I articulate better, that I get across to the audience my intent. It matters that I enjoy the process of writing. It matters that this is time I am investing and dedicating for myself.

Even as I write this, there is a part of me hurrying to shut me down. A part that says, this is too ambitious. You will never make the time. Something will come up, and then what? I will let that doubting part of me speak its piece, and gently tell it that we will deal with it when that happens. Its time shall come. 

At the moment, though, there is an other part that is holding court. The part that wants to write better. The part that recognizes that writing is a labor of love. The part that knows that good writing is built on drafts, edits and rewrites. The part that dreams of sharing her voice with the world. This proclamation of intent honors her.

I am well aware that my commitment to this practice is a small part in a complex web of activities required to realize that dream. And I am gently releasing the dream and the hope into the universe. May the powers that be bring her home, yet again.

PS: This piece is in response to a prompt: There is something I've been circling for years. Today I look it in the eye.