I don’t want to be a writer, I just want to write

I’m scared of failing. Scared of succeeding. I’m scared of any result that might come out of me doing something. So, I just freeze. It’s awful.

It’s not like I don’t have ideas, ambition or creativity. I have plenty, but I have to search tremendously for a place in my life to allow it to come out. Even when I find some space, I first have to deal with a couple hours of procrastination before I muster up the courage to embark on my creative journey. 

Why does any creative endeavour come with this immense amount of pressure? Why can’t we just create for the sake of creating? And share for the sake of sharing. It’s such a human thing to want to show people what you made. That’s such a beautiful thing. 

Maybe it’s just me. But maybe it’s the manifestation of seeing other people share their work and find an audience, thinking I have to find that too. 

I don’t want to be a writer, I just want to write. 

I don’t want to have strict deadlines and stay with the times. I don’t want to write thinking about what people might find interesting to read. I don’t want to think about what words will sell the most products. I just want to write. 

I want to write weird stories that don’t make sense, but that are secretly all about my own life. I want to write dull characters with dull plotlines. I don’t want to kill off stories or the people in it. I don’t fancy having a super brutal plot twist going. 

I want to write stories that make people feel happy and safe. That gives you that warm feeling like a soft summer’s day. Like a dog jumping in your arms. Like holding a melting popsicle in your hand while someone you love is standing near. Like sitting in a forest or by a lake with nowhere else to go.

I can give myself that freedom in my writing. The real question is if I will.