When I made the conscious decision to fully dive into writing, I did what I suppose many writers have done before me and what many writers will do in the future: I looked up various ways to write. I read about best-selling authors’ methods of writing and planning. I read my favourite author’s (Stephen King, if you didn’t know) opinion on writing methodology and I tried to find which one suited me best.
Not once did I even think then that maybe, just maybe, there was another way. MY way. A way that only I can do and only I can achieve. Again, throughout my life I feel like common sense was often acknowledged but never applied. In other words:
I was a dum-dum about many many MANY things. Including the writing process.
So is this blog going to be about my writing process? Well, I’m going to share the way I write (after all, I assume most writers and readers enjoy hearing about this stuff, I know I do) but mostly this is about how I beat myself up in the most creative ways possible.
I knew I was going to be an artist because I felt it when I was a kid and I read my very first comic. I used to read the adventures of Donald Duck, Uncle Scrooge and Mickey Mouse. They were fucking awesome. I would anxiously wait for Saturday as it was the day my parents took us to the bookshop and buy us comic books or books, whichever we wanted.
I was more than a reader even then as I would grab blank pieces of paper and draw my own stories of these characters. Spoiler: I suck at drawing. I hated myself for not being good enough to draw. Yep, I started beating myself up as early as back then. Dum-Dum.
I eventually stopped drawing (I doodled on my school notebooks and stuff, but never tried to draw comics again) but I did not stop writing. I would write different things: made-up stories, fanfiction and TV Show scripts. I was creative in many aspects of my life. I would play with Lego and action figures but follow a storyline (no matter how basic). I remember an awesome moment when I had Shredder face off with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Shredder was about to be defeated but PLOT TWIST: Michelangelo betrays his brothers. Gasp!
It was a shit ton of fun.
As I grew older, I got better and better at putting myself down. I would repeat to myself day in and day out that I was not good enough. I screamed internally at myself that I was deluded if I thought I had any ounce of talent. I beat myself to a bloody pulp. I almost killed my creative self and resigned to never follow what my heart truly wanted.
But then that part of me didn’t die. I got back on my feet and decided that being miserable was tiring. It was fucking exhausting. I still heard myself say:
You’re not good enough, but now I also thought: So, what?
It was a start. I began to listen to my bruised heart again. Nurtured him and allowed him to share what he wanted. It hadn’t changed since I was a kid: he wanted to be an artist. A storyteller. A writer.
It took a while but now, I don’t hear myself say: You’re not good enough. At least, not as often as I used to. Once I was able to stop belittling myself all the time, once I stopped beating myself up constantly, I realised what was my methodology of writing.
I make up stories and chase these moments that make me feel like a kid playing with his action figures. That’s the way I write.