Ok, this is going to sound a bit dull to start with but there is something interesting in it. I was tidying up files on my computer last week, (random job, and to be honest more of a timewaster than strictly necessary but it had been driving me crazy having things in random places) when I came across a creative writing folder.
These files, hidden in the depths of my hard drive, had been transferred through not only one but two older computers to finally wash up in the here and now. I knew of the existence of this folder, but I had long forgotten what the contents of it were. Not a huge amount is the answer. Is it any good? Not shabby I reckon, and my voice seems to have carried well.
I found it was mostly transcriptions into digital format, of some of my handwritten poems from when I was a teenager and in my early twenties. I can’t remember exactly my intention for doing this, but being a strictly writing poetry in pencil in a notebook kind of girl, I would have to surmise that it was publication I was looking towards.
There are also a couple of short stories, and an attempt at a blog post (I had forgotten I even knew about blogging until the last couple of years) of a therapeutic nature, long before I started counselling. One of these stories is a very uncanny story about a mother giving birth to twins, which I wrote 5 years before I had my twins – woah!
The other is the same as the story that I am currently trying to coax out of myself into a full on novel, although it is happening very slowly. It has a slightly altered emphasis, and is perhaps a more developed story now with firmer foundations. But that basic concept has been hanging around in my brain for over 10 years! (I really need to get on with it don’t I!?!)
In the years when I didn’t write, when I was busy with work and children, I managed to forget that writing was a part of me, always has been and I think always will. I didn’t give it the priority it deserved. Why has it been so hard for me to recognise until now that writing is a genuine purpose for me to occupy my life?
It amazes me that I hid this part of me from myself for so long. I realise that some of that was the bowing to the perceived expectations of the world around me and my own ideas about how I could live my life. Some of it was about the education that I received and the emphasis on results and achievement. Ultimately I didn’t realise that writing was my ‘treasure’.
Finding these things now have given me certainty and determination in writing, they have validated what I am doing, that it is not ‘wasting’ my time. Eventually, I will be able to craft something substantial. I am allowing creativity to flow in my brain, as opposed to denying access, although getting it out into a concrete form is a little more challenging.
I am seeking out opportunities to learn about writing, sometimes through other people, like the What I’m Writing group, as well as books and of course the good old internet. I am starting to own this as a part of me, in perhaps a way that I needed to discover for myself. I am forging my own path. I am a writer.
I’d be interested to hear about your journey to discovering the writer in you, and how you’ve learned your craft.