Writing Blogs

Before going to university, I had only ever written as an outlet for my creativity. I found it challenging to learn how to write for a purpose, I also found it difficult to understand the structure and concept of essays. It was something that I had never learned in high school, and the time between high school and university for me was fifteen years. The learning curve was very steep, indeed. I found that the more I tried to direct the purpose of my writing toward what I thought would appeal to the professors, the less successful and clear my essays became. This was even more pronounced when tasked with a topically uninspiring essay.

The key then, for me, is to stay true to myself.

I try to find something in the task that I have been given that inspires me and run with it. It can be the tiniest thread; the more I tug at that thread, the broader the topic I want to discuss might become. How is this relevant you might ask, since you most likely aren’t in university. These skills translate to the everyday musings and professional work of the writer and individual. If you find yourself writing blogs, stories, poetry, or essays that are not being received well or fall flatter than you may have expected.

It may be that you are writing with the audience in mind rather than what lights a fire inside you.

It can be a little more challenging to find a purpose for your writing when there has been no topic assigned to you. For instance, blogging has been another problematic prospect that I have been trying to throw myself into. I am lucky that I love learning and overcoming the unknown. Assignments for university come with a neat little topic that you can discuss and pick at for days or weeks. Blogging comes entirely from me, I must come up with the content, the topic, the question, and then answer it while remaining true to myself. This not only comes with the difficulty of working out if you have something interesting to say, but also the fear of rejection in a public space. I must set aside my fear, just write, and hope that what I come up with is well received. So, I resolve to write for me to give you pieces of myself and what inspires me in the knowledge that it will serve me best in the long run. Only I know what ignites my passion, and experience tells me that my passions are what serve me best.

With passion comes inspiration; I would even go so far as to say with emotion comes inspiration. Some of my best creative work has been written in moments of my most profound grief. Conversely, my best essays have been written on the minute niche of essay topics that have been assigned to me. Finding my purpose each time that I set out to write has helped me become a better writer. It has also ensured that I delve deeper into topics that I may otherwise have dismissed. Whether I write creatively or to discuss something factual, I strive to look for an angle on the subject that not only interests me but inspires me. You never know what you might come up with when you bring your perspective to something that may have only been looked at from one angle.

I have learned so much in the last few years. In particular, that anything is possible if you just keep throwing yourself at it. You can even learn how to write relatively good essays in your thirties. Honour yourself in everything that you do, embrace your uniqueness, and translate that into your work, whatever it may be. Writing for a purpose is a skill that I am still trying to perfect, it has become easier with time and practice, but I still have a long way to go, and I am excited about that. We are all capable of achieving great things.

My advice: write, even when you can’t bear it; even if you aren’t a writer, write your truth; you might just surprise yourself.

© Sarah Arber 2020

These days it seems less and less that I come to my desk to write for a purpose that is my own. It is disheartening to get bogged down into the minute of university study or work. As each semester wears on, my capacity for creativity wears thin. What begins as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed very quickly ends as lacklustre and uninspired. But the show must go on as they say, and these words won’t find themselves. So how then do you continue? Despite everything that encroaches on you, how do you pick up and carry on? For me, the simple answer is I don’t know; honestly, sometimes I do wonder. Words, writing, reading, and creating are my passion, they are the lifeblood that courses through my veins, and I often find that there is no way for me to continue. I have gone months without putting down a single word for the love of it. At one point in my life, I went years. But here I am, persevering, despite my own self-doubt and the pressures of life that encroach upon me.

Herein lies the question, why? After all this time, all these years, why do I continue? I have been driven to write for as long as I can remember; rarely was there a moment in my childhood that I didn’t have a pen in hand. I was that kid, an only child, lacking the entertainment of siblings. I loved nothing more than to immerse myself in other worlds and then create them for myself. It was my escape then in much the same way that it is now. I seek escapism and thrive on the mental relief it provides me. The ability to pick up a book and leave the world’s worries behind me is a gift that I am grateful for each and every day. But literature is more than that; it is more than a good story that we snuggle up with on the couch to forget who we are for just a moment. Literature gives a voice to the stories that may otherwise be left untold. The extraordinary stories, the ones that may not necessarily change the world, but perhaps they will change someone. Open someone’s mind to new concepts. Or show them a facet of humanity they had never known before.

As an author, I send little pieces of myself out into the world, like fragile paper boats and I hope. I hope that my story will be loved, I hope that it is as important to someone else as it is to me, and I hope that I’ve done justice to the story and characters I’am are portraying. I write because I have a story to tell; whether it is a difficult topic or not, I strive to tell the story to the best of my ability and find that those stories that come from my own truths are often the most well-received. Which is difficult for me, as a lover of fantasy; a nut that I am yet to fully crack. My ability to write fantasy fiction is dwarfed by the reception of my human-centred realistic pieces. But I digress, writing the human experience is the key for me, it has kept me going in times when I would much rather have thrown in the towel.

The human experience is what currently drives my writing, I find each story rooted in humanity gives rise not only to the next but also to understanding and compassion. It is fundamental to who I am and my own human experience. Providing insight into the difficulties of everyday situations in average lives has a particular beauty. This the current path of my writing, and it is at the core of why I write. In truth, however, there is no one reason why I write. It is as natural to me as some find it to have a conversation; in fact, I would say that I can write far better than I could ever speak. But do I need a reason why? The question itself seems legitimate enough to warrant an answer. And it is a question that I am more often than I dare to count; I certainly shouldn’t be justifying myself when it comes to my passion, and I know that the question wouldn’t arise if my chosen path were not in a creative industry.

I have written for as long as I can remember and used books to escape from my own reality for even longer. This will never change, it will be a part of who I am for as long as I draw breath and I won’t ever justify it. I can’t. All I know is, when something draws you in, tugs at your very being, honour it. Give it space and the time that it needs; because that is your passion calling out, begging to be allowed the freedom of expression it so rightly deserves. We don’t have enough time on this earth to spend our lives doing what we think other people want us to do. They aren’t the ones who have to live our lives, we are. In Tolkien’s words, “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”

© Sarah Arber 2020