Why I Write: A Story of Catharsis and a Calling

Writing is something anyone can do if they put their mind to it. It’s a skill that can be learned, but I don’t believe it can be effectively taught. There are too many people with different learning styles and approaches to creativity. Personally, I was always drawn to writing. I have always been more of a bookworm than an athlete. My love of reading was an obvious steppingstone to a love of writing. I find it cathartic. It also allows me to express myself creatively and constructively. Looking back on life, I find it all comes back to writing at some juncture. All the people I look up to are writers or have written books in their careers. Most of all, as someone with a creative mind who has no skill with any other art form whatsoever, writing seemed to be the logical choice. In what I will admit is an attempt to thwart writer’s block, I would like to share with you why I do what I do and why it brings me such joy and satisfaction.

The Catharsis of it all: Freeing my Mind from Pent-Up Emotion

I don’t want to make this piece about my past or what I’ve been through, but I’ve been through a lot in life and writing has helped me process a lot of those traumas and pent-up emotions Even if it was just something for me, writing out what I was thinking and feeling always helped and kept me from doing things I would have definitely lived to regret. Some emotions I was feeling were misplaced, and sometimes misdirected. Only by writing everything down was I able to figure this out. I have plenty of regrets, many of which I have been able to process through the written word. I couldn’t imagine how many stupid and regrettable things I would have done had I not discovered—and later was forced to rediscover—the power of the written word.

Again, I don’t want to make this entire article about me and what I’ve been through, but I would be remiss if I didn’t at least briefly mention some things I’ve been through and how writing has helped me process them. I won’t bore you with the details, but writing has helped me through bullying as a result of being different. I remember a story I wrote when I was in fifth grade about someone with a disability and how it affected their life and how they viewed themselves. I have since gotten away from such obvious symbolism, but I still find comfort in the written word and being able to process those emotions. It keeps me from doing other things I may regret, as if I don’t have enough of those already.

Some people can say they have no regrets. For me to utter those words in any capacity would be the biggest fallacy I can think of. To find regret, all I have to do is look at my current situation and think about how I got here. I don’t regret the situation I’m in, but I am self-aware enough in my advancing age to understand that everything I’m experiencing now is a direct result of something I did or said years ago when I didn’t think my decisions would affect me. I was the definition of young and dumb. It is there that my regret lives, and I’m thankful that God gave me the ability to put words together in a coherent manner to deal with it.

The Creative Side: An Outlet for the Randomness and Nonsense in my Mind

Writing has always been cathartic for me, a way to deal with thoughts and emotions effectively. But there has always been something more to it. I have always had a creative streak, and I can’t draw or paint to save my life to this day. The logical solution, of course, was and always has been writing. ADHD has always left me with ideas flying through my head faster than I can process them. I find myself thinking of scenarios that could happen but haven’t yet, and expressing those has left me with a bad reputation of being untruthful in some circles; it was obviously never meant that way. Eventually, I internalized those scenarios and turned them into the “what if” questions that shape most modern fiction. Of all the abilities and passions I could have in life, I’m certainly glad I ended up with a love and talent for writing.

ADHD is a blessing and a curse sometimes when I think about creativity. I’m undiagnosed, so don’t come for me, but it isn’t hard to see it in myself. It’s a walking novel conflict, one that I might use at some point. Countless ideas float around in my head, but on most days, I have no way of rationalizing or organizing them. The resulting jumble of thoughts and ideas makes for some interesting scenarios, some of which could happen and others that would stand no chance. I write them out either way.

I find myself thinking of random scenarios sometimes that would probably never happen in real life. I used to express those scenarios aloud to people I considered friends. All it afforded me was what I considered to be an undeserved reputation as someone who stretches the truth a little too much. These were times in which I wasn’t writing and I probably should have been. These overly embellished scenarios could have been easily subjected to the “what if” filter that shapes modern fiction, and it would have saved me some headaches along the way.

When you break down most modern fiction, it usually starts with a character in a situation, then the author will ask themselves, “What if this happens?” and just like that, you have a plot. Unfortunately, as I’ve become painfully aware, this simplified outlook on fiction does not prevent writer’s block. That in mind, I have also broken down writer’s block into fear of rejection and fear of exposure, though individual results may vary on this score. I’ve found the best way to combat writer’s block is to break the idea of writing down into what it really is for me, a hobby. Once I started thinking of it like that, the bouts with writer’s block were fewer and farther between. Treat it less like a job and it gets easier, I thought. So far, that logic has not betrayed me.

The Hobby of Writing: Time Used Constructively

Though I try not to talk about it much, my battle with cerebral palsy didn’t leave me with much in the way of leisure activities, save for a brief foray into baseball when I was between nine and ten years old. I spent a lot of that time reading. I’ll never forget those nights I stayed up reading, aggravating my siblings because I had no way of completely blocking the light from my bedside lamp. Though I caught hell for it then, I certainly don’t regret it now. When I think about the time I spent between reading and writing and what could have potentially filled that time, I don’t regret picking up those hobbies in the least 

I don’t remember exactly when it clicked in my mind that writing was something I wanted to do in life, but it afforded me a constructive hobby that passed the time easily. The best part, I didn’t need any money to get started. With as many hobbies as I’ve had over the years that have either needed a deposit of some kind or a lot of investment into equipment, it is nice to have a hobby that doesn’t require such a monetary commitment. It wasn’t long after I picked up writing that I discovered I might have a natural talent for it. 

The Pen and Me: A Natural Pair

   The first inclination that I may have a natural talent for writing came around sixth grade. I was a good student—at least when I wanted to be—but I had an issue with daily work I discovered later was an issue of overconfidence in my own abilities. I was always a good test taker, and this was evident in how my high school career ended. My parents always made it a point to make sure I knew how smart I was. At this time, I was convinced it was simply an excuse to get mad when my grades slipped, a way of saying “there’s no excuse”. In reality, it was their way of telling me that my physical condition did not affect my mental faculties. I appreciate it now, but that’s only because I’ve been slapped in the face by karma a few times and forced to look into that omnipresent mirror that is hindsight. It was only when other people started saying what they said that I believed it.

I had a teacher in sixth grade English that wrote the same general comment on all of my writing assignments. Though I don’t remember her words to the letter, I seem to recall her praising my writing talent for my age at the time while admonishing my cavalier attitude toward actually turning the assignments in. I took the compliments seriously. Hindsight being what it is, I wish more and more as time goes on that I’d heeded the latter advice as well. I learned eventually, just not as quickly as I would have liked. It wasn’t until two years later that I’d come across an English teacher who would have a profound effect on me.

I’m going to leave his name out for both of our protection, but eighth grade English was memorable for me because of one man for whom I still hold a high level of respect to this day. Don’t get me wrong, all my teachers took as much time as they possibly could have with me, but there is always one that has a lasting impact. 

I don’t remember too many teachers in high school that affected my writing specifically. If I’m being honest, it was at this time I became lost. I had no direction. I was nothing but anger and superfluous friendships. I cringe every time I think about my high school graduation when they went through each of us and said something about what we planned to do after that day. The voice of the speaker and the word “undecided” haunts me to this day, highly indicative of a time in which I’d lost my way. Despite the encouragement for my writing and an interest in journalism, I for whatever reason at that time chose not to pursue it. I don’t have many glaring regrets, but I would say this is one of them, especially when I think of the natural gifts I wasted during that time.

When you mention or it is otherwise made apparent that you are left-handed, the reception is often mixed. Some people find it fascinating, others find it odd. My dad in particular saw it as yet another opportunity to make jokes. Regardless of the social reception, it is often associated with having some sort of artistic gift (unless you are a religious fanatic, then it has other less desirable connotations). I don’t directly attribute my skill with writing to this trait, but I don’t think it hurts either. Either way, I was naturally drawn to books and writing came naturally from that. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Power of Influence: The People Who Made Me the Writer I Have Become

Like anything else in life, nobody finds and realizes their dreams completely on their own. I spent far too long hamstringing my career chasing the impossible carrot that is being able to say I did it all on my own. The truth of the matter is, nobody does anything completely on their own, no matter how adamant they are that they did. There is always someone behind the scenes, whether it is a supportive parent, significant other, or mentor. The latter of these can come as someone who actually mentors you, or it could be someone you look up to that has done what you are trying to do. Whether I’ve allowed myself to see it or not, my family has always supported me, but aside from that, I can name many more distant mentors who have unknowingly helped to shape me as a writer and as a man.

Stephen King

It wouldn't be a writing article for me if I didn’t mention my literary idol, Stephen King. My fiction tends to be on the darker side, and I can attribute that to Mr. King’s influence. I’d like to think I’ve slowly developed my style over time, but to say King hasn’t influenced my writing in some respect would be a lie. I’ve read more of his books than I haven’t read. Though my writing has taken more of a psychological thriller turn, I will always credit King with my initial inspiration. After all, he essentially says in his book “On Writing,” which you can check out here, that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. King has famously talked about imitating the likes of Lovecraft and John D McDonald. This in mind, King also maintains that in order to become a good writer, you have to write, and through writing you will eventually find your own style. I feel like I’m getting there, and I have him to thank.

Anyone who knows me will tell you I love baseball. Those same people will also likely tell you that I’m one of if not the biggest Braves fan in this part of the country. I was blessed to grow up in an era in which we had nationally televised games on a weekly basis (Thanks Ted Turner) and to have someone close to me share my love for baseball. The reader in me was even more excited when I found out some of my favorite players wrote books as well.

Chipper Jones

Every baseball fan has their favorite player. Some change over time, some don’t. I didn’t. I was and still am a fan of Chipper Jones. Though being left-handed probably would have put me on the opposite side of the diamond from him, I always liked the way he went about his business. Everybody thought he was cocky because he stepped in the box or onto the field every time with the mentality that he was the best player out there. If you read his book, “Ballplayer,” which I’ve included a link to, you’ll find that it came from his mother, who was a professional equestrian. She encouraged him to step on the field for every game, every at bat, every inning in the field like he was the best player on the field. The importance of family was evident, as anytime Chipper was in a slump, he went not to then hitting coach Don Baylor, but to his dad, Larry Sr. Reading that and hearing Chipper talk about it in interviews got me thinking about my relationship with my dad and how it shaped me as a man and a writer.

My Dad

My dad has been a farmer all his life. It’s all he’s ever known. As time goes on, I think the contribution of farmers to the function of this country is vastly overlooked in today’s society. Even during my misguided youth, a time in which I disrespected everyone believed to be in authority just for the sake of doing so, I always held a silent respect and admiration for my father. As long as I’ve been alive, he hasn’t taken a day off from work that didn’t have a purpose or good reason. Though I can’t say I’ve always followed this example, I’m proud to say that I do now. The older I get, the more I become like my dad. I’m ok with that. He’s always supported me, so I owe it to him to pass on his values.

No matter what I pursued, my dad has always supported me. Sometimes he was vocal, sometimes he stood to the side in silent support as I made the inevitable mistakes on the way to potential success. I have only moderately succeeded in life so far, and that is not for lack of support. Whatever success I have, I will always attribute some of it to my dad. He’s not a big social media guy, but I hope he reads this someday. Though I was too proud to admit it when I was younger, I wouldn’t be the man I am if it weren’t for him and my mother. Appreciate your parents, folks. Whatever the method, they always teach you something. I suppose that could be said for all people. No matter what type of influence someone has on you, they always teach you something if you’re willing to learn.

Final Thoughts

No matter who you are or where you come from, we all have a calling, something that we are meant to do. Whether it’s putting words on a page, tending a farm, or hitting a baseball, there is something for everyone. Like the inciting incident of your favorite novel, there is always a moment in life in which you discover this calling, and it changes your life forever. Whether it’s carrying on the family business or something life calls you to later, everyone has a purpose. Take whatever advice your parents give you, however they choose to give it. Find something in life that keeps you busy and brings you joy and try to make a career out of it. Cliche as it sounds, if you do that, you’ll never work a day in your life. I write because I love it, and if I can make a full-time income out of it someday, I will be happy. Find that one thing that gives you the same thrill writing does for me and you can be too.