Is a question I get asked alot.
“You can’t be a writer – because you don’t read!” claim the avid book readers in my life. To them, because I’ve not a book in my hand at all times, I am considered a heathen. I am wrong. In order to fully understand my love of the written word, first I must devour every book ever written – regardless whether I like the genre or not. Because then and only then.. will I be able to write well enough to be taken seriously.
When I was a child, I loved writing poetry. I would spend hours and hours and hours writing poems about all manner of subjects. The fact I was 11, my favourite babysitter, the way my room looked. It didn’t matter. As long as I could write about it – it was worth it. Nobody taught me how to write poetry ..I just figured it out. Poetry is like song lyrics without music. As long as it rhymed and had a beat to it – I was proud of it.
I kept all of my poems in a purple plastic A4 folder. It had stars on it. Whenever we had guests, my Mother would ask me to bring it out and she would show everyone my silly little poems. (At the time I was embarrassed but, looking back on it – I can only assume she was proud of me as well)
Pretty soon poetry made way for story telling. My favourite time in school was when the class was asked to write a story (on anything they wanted) While most kids managed about 2 pages each – I would walk into class with 20+ pages, still incomplete, hoping that we’d be given time to work on it some more because I still had more chapters to go.
In fact, I wrote so much that my teachers said ” Can you shorten it a bit? I just won’t have time to read all that!”
When I started High School, English was my favourite subject and I always got fairly good grades. (Even managing an A one year – which to this day remains one of two A’s I have ever managed to receive throughout the entirety of my 12 years Public School education. The first being in 4th grade for a project on France and the second being of course, the A for completing year 10 English with flying colours – God bless you, Mr Walter .. wherever you are. I hope you and your glorious teaching hat are well!*)
That is, until my senior year, Year 12.
In my final year of highschool, any confidence I had with my ability to write was shot to pieces by my year 12 English Teacher. Mrs *B* { name redacted} was an old overweight woman with fat ankles who made wheezing noises when she walked. She also drank tea. A hell of a lot of tea. Whenever we had a doubles class – she would slurp away while we worked on whatever it was she’d prepared for us that lesson. The truth of it was though, no one liked her. So much so, that many of us, including myself, would get up and walk out of her classes and wander across to the school canteen to grab a bite to eat. She would complain that we were never attentive in class – we would complain that she never taught us anything so what was the point. By the second half of the school year however, all of our shenanigans came to a halt when the school principal told us to pull our heads in and knock it off – after it got back to him that Mrs B had been heard shrieking “If you don’t want to learn – You can get out and play in the trees!” Before locking half the class out of the room for the rest of the lesson which, as you can imagine, raised an eyebrow or two indeed.
From that point on, regardless of what I wrote – it wasn’t good enough. Mrs B found every excuse under the sun to belittle and humiliate me. ”What is this?” she’d say ” It’s rubbish!” or “Why can’t you write like *Insert authors name here* or, my favorite “* Person in class* can write better than you”
I can only imagine I wasn’t the only person she heaped shit on- but her criticism of the only thing I knew I was good at .. Cut me to the quick and I vowed to never write anything ever again.
In the *counts* almost 30 years ( Ye gads I’m old!) since I finished High School, I’ve dabbled here and there . Written other blogs on and off. The odd bit of fan fiction. Pieces for online publications and the like but never been able to fully commit to writing full time.
What would I write about? I haven’t a clue!
Would anyone read it? Probably not. ( But does it matter?)
Will I have to read a million books .. before anyone would bother with anything I put to paper?
The answer?
No. Because I don’t NEED to read anything to be able to write. Do those who read books need to be able to write an essay on the subject matter before they can read a word? No. No they do not. Why? Because it’s not required.
The answer to “How can I write – when I don’t read” is simple. I have a creative imagination. The only mistake I’ve made is allowing people to stomp on my creative ability and believing them when they’ve said ” In order to do this .. .You have to do that” and ” You can’t do this because it’s stupid!” Because I can! The thing with creativity is .. .There is no order by which you do things … because you just do it. It happens naturally. And that’s it. Creativity comes from within. It’s not taught in school ( although, if you find the right teacher- it can be polished till it shines – Thank you, again, Mr Walter!) and there’s no instruction booklet or how to guide.
Whether you write, paint, draw, play music, knit, sew, make things or sing.. It all comes from the heart first.
The sooner people figure that out - the better.
I love writing.
That is all
Ceej
*My year 10 English teacher had a white, wide brimmed hat. He would wear it whenever we ‘misbehaved’ or got to rowdy. He would silently put it on and wait. We would all just look at him and then he would lecture us on acting like two- year-olds. Truth be told he looked silly in that hat. But honestly, he was the coolest teacher ever and to this day remains one of my favorites. Thank you for believing in me Sir. It meant a lot.
** While the cover photo for this blog has nothing to do with the subject matter -They’re books I’ve actually read. 😛
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