On Writing, and Reading.

I find that I really, really want to write.

"Good thing you have a blog," you're probably saying.  And it's true, this is a good outlet for me for the writing creativity to flow, letting me write about what I want to write about instead of writing about what my professors would have me write about.  And yes, sometimes I write awesome things that people love and comment on with multiple exclamation points or link to their own blog or facebook page.  And yes, sometimes I just recount my day with mildly amusing commentary.  And yes, sometimes I stare at my computer screen for an hour before deciding that there is nothing in my brain to be written, and post a YouTube video instead.

The point is, I like to write.  I like to weave words together into sentences and present familiar ideas in innovative ways, or present innovative ideas in familiar ways.  I like to make the complex simple, and the simple complex.  Writing is like painting - you begin with a completely blank canvas, a blinking cursor on a white computer screen and with twenty six letters and the occasional punctuation mark, you create something that can shake people's minds, that can move people to action and challenge their perspectives.  Words themselves are fascinating, if you stop and think about them...but it's the way that the words are put together that makes them truly remarkable.

But, even though I know that I like to write, sometimes something pushes me into an even greater love of writing - reading.  More specifically, reading something that reflects the sort of things I like to write, or would like to write, or something that is reminiscent of my own writing style.  Things like exceptionally well-crafted young adult novels, when vital themes are developed in a reader-friendly way that isn't excessively flowerly in language but possesses all the trappings of masterful storytelling.  It's when I read those things that I remember that I want to write, when I think "I can do that" in a way that isn't arrogant, but inspiring.

Writing and Reading both are beautiful, unique experiences that are capable of empowering the human soul.  Isn't it too bad, then, how sometimes the beauty of it gets hammered out?

I've been a student continuously for no less than 18 years.  In that time, I've read a lot, and I've written a lot...and I've gotten burnt out a lot.  Forced to read things I don't want to read and to write things I don't want to write, I lose the desire to read and write those things which I do want to read and write.  This blog has helped keep me more accountable to writing - there have been days where I have procrastinated 10 page papers for entire afternoons, yet spent an hour and a half voluntarily writing a blog post.  Reading is what really begins to fall by the wayside...when all your homework is reading, pages upon pages upon pages, you really don't want to read in your free time.

And how unfortunate that is...because I love to read.

When I have vacations (such as the present) I remember that I love to read, and read I do.  But during my school semesters, reading for pleasure is the last thing on my mind...even though those are the times that I could most use the escapism that a good book offers the mind.

So here's to reading: reading with the excitement of a child waving their favorite storybook in their parent's face, demanding them to read it just one more time before they go to sleep.  And here's to writing: writing with the flair of an artist than with the drudgery of an overworked grad student.

Here's to the love that goes into every well-written text and well-read book.