Writing from the soul

I use to suffer from a sense of imposterism — if that’s even a word.

I would write something, usually recycled and up-cycled from somewhere or something I’ve read. I would create rehashed tales with no original thought or content behind it.

Others would see them as intensely original — but little did they know that I just remodeled it from a series of stories and novels I’ve read. I would rename dragons, rename heroes and heroines, rename places and spaces, events and characters.

I would rename, rehash and recreate already created scenes.

I would aspire to be like Stephen King and J.K Rowling. I would dream grand dreams of book signings and riches.

I would dream impossible dreams and feel like a fraud at the same time. The words and novels I typed were not mine — they were just paraphrased from somewhere else.

It’s been almost 5 years since I’ve given up that dream. I gave up on the dream when I moved out. I felt stuck and brain dead.

So I stopped.

I stopped reading novels.

I stopped telling stories to myself.

I stopped telling stories to an invisible audience.

I stopped everything as the full force of life came crashing down on me and I had no space to dream such dreams.

4 years later, on a complete whim, I started to write again.

It came from the frustrations and personal struggles. It came from a place in my heart and brain that needed space for release.

Rather than trying to write someone else’s story, I wrote something from within me.

I wrote my story.

The ensuing months I consistently visited my digital pen and paper.

Writing became my source of therapy.

It became that which helped me understand me — my loves, my hates, my likes, dislikes, and even borderline post-natal depression.

The more I wrote, the more I fueled my desire to write. A few words quickly turned into sentences. Sentences into paragraphs. Paragraphs into full articles.

I stopped trying to emulate the voices of others to figure out mine.

I listened to its tone, adjusted and refined the bits I liked and didn’t like. I eliminated and edited.

I took breaks here and there but this time, I never truly stopped writing.

I learned to look from within me and write down what I know.

I started to write from my soul.

The more I write from my soul, the more I started to understand it from a bystander point of view — the dreams it dreams, the lost in space ideas, the aspirations it has, its wants and its needs.

The more I write from my soul — the more I reflect and release — the more I discover and uncover that which is truly and utterly just me.

About Author /

Editor of Hustle Thrive Grow. On a quest to become a better human and documenting the journey in digital ink.

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