Discovering Writing

An unplanned, unconstrained, stream of consciousness about my feelings towards writing.

Could I be a long-form writer? What even is long-form writing? I know where a group of letters become a word, and where a collection of those words become a sentence. But when does a group of sentences become a paragraph, and when do those paragraphs become an email, a short story, an essay, or a novel. Maybe these are clearly defined to some, but I guess then that's the point. I know so little about the formality of writing. In fact, I know just one thing about writing. I like it.

I don't know where this appreciation came from. I haven't done very much writing at all. Besides my required school work, there isn't much ink arranged through my hand. But as far as I can recall I had an odd relationship with what little writing was required of me. On the one hand, I hated being told when to write, what to write, and how to write. Yet while writing the dreaded assignments I found guilty pleasure in the process. Even frequently proud of the results. This became more clearly apparent in reflection of my short stint at university when I realized one of my favorite courses had been a certain infamous class called Expository Writing, a course required of all students, taught by PhD students, consisting of weekly readings and consequential writing assignments. By all accounts, this was a dreaded class. Yet for some reason I recall as much if not more from this class as I do from Calculus 2, Intro to Communications, or Advanced Topics in Cognitive Science. I remember the immense stress of rushing through another 5-page essay Sunday night feeling sorry for waiting till the last minute, yet also remember the freeing feeling of reaching a state of unison with my idea where the words came as quickly as I could type them. The latter of the which I first experienced in the 10th grade while still being introduced to the beauty of language by Mr. Jackson whose lessons I can still recall. So I guess I like writing. It may seem obvious to anyone reading this recollection, however, for me, this is somehow only emerging out of a deep state of unconsciousness now.

As far as emails, job applications, or brief journal entries go I consider myself decently capable. But something I have yet considered a possibility is to write something longer. Or better yet something longer out of my own volition. Imagine me having an idea, opening up my text editor, and writing a full-length essay on the matter. With no restrictions! I now wonder if being told to write has discouraged me from writing. No doubt being told to write has taught me how to write, but could I have learned another way too? Anyway, I'll leave that question for our trained teachers for I'm far too busy writing an essay of my own choosing.

Wow, 500 words in and I'm still going. How will I know when to stop? Will it come naturally or will I need to force it? At which point does this go beyond an essay? I should really stop overthinking this and just keep writing. I'll let the more educated decide which category to genrefy this. Ha, I just made up a word and I'm just going to ignore that squiggly red line so desperately calling for my attention. Can't phase me. This is my essay.

No outlines were made in the writing of this essay. No outlines, no rough drafts, no proofreads. Just flow. Neurons fired, keys were pressed, words formed, sentences built, paragraphs established, and an essay completed. Heck who knew writing could be so free. I feel a bit naughty. Like a nun gone wild. What if this is wrong. But how can it be wrong if it feels so right? How many others have felt this way when writing before. I hope many. It’s an act of liberation. Both in medium and mind.

I'm starting to feel a conclusion coming. I want to keep going though. Are 700 words even enough to call this an essay? I want this to be called an essay. Oh, wait that doesn't matter. Call this what you will it's not my concern. I wrote it. You read it. I thought. You interpreted. Mission accomplished.

Someday I'd like to write so much I need an outline to keep track of it all. Someday I'd like to read something I feel so passionately about I just must write an essay in response. Someday I'd like to make a habit of writing even when I'm not quite feeling the inspiration. I guess I have those options now.