How I Found Myself as a Writer - Essay Example

Reflective Essay. Looking back on my progress as a I realize that it has been a journey which began with a simple delight in words and endedin a very reluctant surrender to self-expression. I see now that this journey was not one made by deliberate choice, but rather a voyage I stumbled into due to a combination of circumstances and compulsions. Like most children, my writing experiences were confined to the pages of my English Composition book and was done only with the aim of completing my homework in the shortest time possible, so that I could get down to the more serious business of playing soccer with my friends in the park. I sailed casually through such weighty topics as ‘My Pet’ (a goldfish named ‘Bubbles’) and ‘A Windy Day’ (with a kite painted in all the colors of the rainbow!) with remarkable ease, and a happy facility with words, which earned me many ‘stars’ from my teachers. I vaguely recognized that my descriptive powers were rather above that of the average among my peers. When we were asked to write about a basket ball placed on the teacher’s desk, my classmates confined themselves to a description of its color, shape, size and appearance. As the only exception, I, quite by chance, and most likely due to an urge to be outdoors in the afternoon sun, included a couple of lines about wishing to take the ball and shooting a few baskets. My reputation as ‘a writer’ among my peers was born then! I realized that I was now expected to live up to my teacher’s higher expectations and usually made an effort to add a few extra words or devote an additional quarter of an hour of thought to my essays. I faced my first stumbling block as a writer when I reached the topic ‘My Family’ in the fifth grade. With all the morbid sensitivity of a child, I realized that my usual approach to writing, which had stood me in good stead up to then, would not serve in this instance. After all, a breezy, true account of a family in which the parents were constantly at loggerheads with each other, and so busy bickering that they could not devote any time to the cherishing or care of their children, was too emotionally raw to offer for public reading by my classmates and teacher. I worried a little, but soon discovered a solution. I wrote an essay about a fictitious family, to which any child would love to belong. It comprised of an affectionate mother who baked her son’s favorite cakes and cookies and cuddled him in bed, a father who read bedtime stories and played soccer and basketball with his ‘little buddy,’ and a cute little sister who adored and looked up to her ‘big brother.’ It was, above all, a family in which the parents loved each other and their children. This was my first flight of imagination and, to my surprise, my essay won the top prize at the school’s annual essay writing competition and my status as ‘a writer’ was firmly established! I realize now that the flight of fancy, and the prize it gained, was responsible for making my successive efforts at writing revolve around imaginary people and incidents. No further awards came my way, although I launched into a number of essays and stories in which I let my imagination call all the shots. On the few occasions when I paused to introspect and ask myself “Why?” no answer came to mind. Even when I entered an essay writing competition, based on environmental protection, in High School, and put in quite a bit of thought and effort into an account of a fledgling which had fallen from its nest and found its way home – all a figment of my imagination, but very cleverly written by my standards – no praise came my way. I continued writing on and off over the years, but my efforts went unappreciated and soon my pleasure in words died and I left it off to move on with my career. Writing was no longer an interest: especially as I had now discovered the joy of my life – flying. I joined the present course with a rather ambivalent attitude and the hope that my past facility with words would just about see me through. When I was faced with the requirement for a narrative essay, I considered several options, none of which appealed to me. Writing just didn’t seem to be something which you could drop and then pick up where you left off! It was my wife who suggested, “Why don’t you write about your first solo flight?” I started and, to my delight, just breezed through it. To cap my joy, I got a 91 as my grade. This set me thinking. What had changed? I had used my usual style. In fact, not having written for several years, I had expected my writing skills to be rusty. But, on the contrary, I had enjoyed every minute of my writing and turned out a good piece. Again, it was my better-half who, impatient with my contemplation, hit the nail on the head. “Your piece is good because you love flying. Surely that’s obvious!” she said. It sure hadn’t been obvious to me! But, thank you, love. I found myself as a writer when I realized that it is only when I write about something I deeply care about, something I truly empathize with, something which is REAL to me, that my writing comes to life. Writing, for me, is not about playing with words, or a clever take on imaginary people and incidents, but an expression of myself. I have attempted to cloak my real self in my writing by using words and fiction, but that hasn’t worked. My little boy reluctance to let the world know about my far-from-perfect family has extended throughout my life as a writer as a barrier to revealing myself and sharing my emotions. I have discovered that my best writing is one which reflects the truth of my life. Read More