Wednesday Writings: On My Thoughts

I have realized that I never plan these posts out. I just write, and hope y'all are inspired by the randomness that threads itself across the screen.

Do you ever stop to think of the reality of publishing? The reality of your words, in the minds and hearts of other people? It sometimes overwhelms me to think of the subtle, powerful ripple that is made through a population when a new work of words becomes popular.

I think that language/writing is the most mysterious force in nature - how two words with the same meaning can have different connotations; how these meaningless sounds we make somehow have meaning. It's more powerful than birth, or death, or love. It ties us together in a way that those forces cannot accomplish alone.

As writers, we hope our words tie people together: we hope we can tie a reader to a fictional character, to create a bond that withstands anything because one of the two isn't real. We want the babies of our imagination to be loved by other people.

When I think of my writing, and of being published, I don't imagine me being the next Stephanie Meyer. I think of my book, worn with love, squashed between louder books on a library shelf where a lonely little girl will see it and read it and escape reality another day. I see some future English teacher passing out my book to a group of bored students and saying, "Of the big boom in literature of the 21st century, this work is considered among the greatest because..."

Am I worried that the fantastical story of my heart will drown in the sea of paranormal romance? Yes. But do I wonder if my work will be one of those that becomes popular after my death, and then lives for generations? Yes.

I love words. Simple as that. And I wish to share it with the world, even though I've never felt like I belonged with the swearing, skin-showing, people who are looking for love. Because I don't do any of those things. But I wonder if there is some hidden girl out there, who is asexual like me, who is conservative and quiet like me, who thinks like me. And that distance has kept us apart, but if I publish my writing, then maybe she won't feel so alone.

I'm sorry if this bores you, or if you are mystified by the lack of coherent thinking on my part. The point of this post is to express why I love writing. Do any of you ever wonder about any of this? Do any of you feel like this? People are crazy, and emotional, and I can only hope that they can understand each other, like I am asking you to. I don't understand why I felt the need to wander and wonder, but here you go.

(To be clear, this is honestly how I think. I am only sixteen, and I do not drink, or get high; I am just random/crazy/deep sometimes. I don't know what I think of you if you jumped to the conclusion that I am drunk/high, but I can reassure you that I'm not.)