On Writing

Well, after some deliberation, I've decided to start updating this blog again! Be excited!

It is interesting looking back at some of my old posts and realizing just how much I have changed in the last few years... I think this will be an interesting experiment. At the very least, it will get me to write more.

It is funny that being in three English classes this semester isn't making me sick of writing. On the contrary, I want to write more! More stories, more of my journal, and, this blog.

I've been thinking about writing, and what it is that compels me to do it. Why do I have this desire for other people to read and experience, in some way, what is going on in my mind? It's like this drive to prove that I can, in fact, think and create something that other people might enjoy, too.

Since I got home from my mission, I've shied away from writing. I think I've been afraid of mediocrity, afraid of failure, afraid that I'm no good at writing, after all. But that is simply ridiculous, and, as Stonewall Jackson said, "Don't take counsel from your fears." Okay, Stonewall, I won't.

Speaking of fear, this abstract concept has been on my mind lately, because of an essay that I'm working on for my creative writing class, exploring the fears from my childhood. I'm including the first paragraph for your perusal!
       
           "From the darkness in my room, I looked over at my teddy bear, his glassy, blank eyes staring at me. I imagined him, as soon as I fell asleep, slowly creeping from his chair and across the room to my bed. He would deftly climb up and stare down into my face, and then reach his furry paws to my neck. I would try to scream, but by then it was too late. Helplessly struggling against him, I would choke until I breathed my last breath. After his plot was carried out, he would creep back to his chair, and my parents would be never know how I came to my fate. The teddy bear didn’t look threatening, but that was just a clever ploy. I never knew how he managed to sit, so still and lifeless, all the while plotting my demise and waiting for nightfall. He was a Christmas gift, and during daylight hours, I would play with him to keep up appearances that I was thrilled with my new “friend.” But I wasn’t thrilled. I was terrified."

I may not be afraid of my teddy bear anymore, but I still have plenty of fears that I'm trying to conquer, some of which are about as irrational as fearing my teddy bear.