I’ve been writing nearly my entire life, but today is the day I’ve decided to be a writer. I’m not going to be the best, or the quickest, or the most dedicated, but as Haruki Marukami says “I didn’t start running because somebody asked me to become a runner. Just like I didn’t become a novelist because someone asked me to. One day, out of the blue, I wanted to write a novel. And one day, out of the blue, I started to run-simply because I wanted to. I’ve always done whatever I felt like doing in life. People may try to stop me, and convince me I’m wrong, but I won’t change.”
The world is not a just place and people are cruel–and that is something which will never change. But on the other hand, the world is also a beautifully inviting place which can always change. All it takes to alter your life and inspire someone else’s is passion. And there’s nothing else I feel more passionate about than writing. Like a connoisseur, I take irrefutable delight in the rich cream of language. There’s an undeniably selfish aspect of my passion. Writing makes me feel good and alive. I lust after conversations where I can talk about literature and the way that it can be profound to everyone and everything around us. I find joy in every masterpiece and I admire the arrangement of words like intricate stitch work.
Yet, recently I’ve realized that my passion for writing can be more than something self serving. I can be more than a selfish performer. I can find my voice in the world with writing. Not only can I connect to myself, but I can connect to the world around me in a way I cannot do verbally or through more tangible action. In all of the world’s wreckage I can be a dandelion sprouting through the gravel. In the dead silence of the air, I can be a Hardy-esque thrushling, flinging its soul upon the world as a promise of hope.
I’m going to connect with atrocity. I’m going to connect with human beings in a way where I can matter. Because I need to matter. Not in a way where everyone knows who I am or celebrates my existence, but in a way where I know that I’ve at least influenced one person to do better. Passion is contagious and I want to spread mine to people and places who desperately need that sort of joy.
To be at least slightly concrete, I’m going to write poems and short stories about my experiences. I’m going to write confessionals about my ideas. And I’m going to write literary reviews in order to encourage both myself and others to dig deeper into our shattered but poignant world.