I recently read that writing is all about telling stories. That good story tellers have the potential to become good writers. It makes alot of sense. All of the good writers I have met have been good story tellers. They revel and excel in bringing events to life verbally as well as via the written word.

I am not a good story teller. Describing a story does not come easy. Yet, I am interesting in writing. I think my interest lies more in communicating than telling a story. But the more I try to introspect what the exact motivation is, the more of a mystery it becomes. It is a complex area because the answer is deeply entwined with so many things. Seeking the answer requires me to go far back into my memory and challenge why things happen, and the effects they have had. It means trying to work out how I have grown, and identifying abilities that have stilted. At some time in my life, my ability to communicate stopped improving. Perhaps even went backwards.

Throughout my childhood I had very little sense of self so it is difficult to look back in retrospect and come up with a realistic picture of how it was, and when things began to change. During early childhood I remember I found it easy to make friends, so when did it start to becoming more difficult. Was it I who changed, or was it those around me. Perhaps as others matured, I didn’t. Perhaps traits I have always had became more disabling during the teenage years. Whichever way around it was, as I reached the final years in high school I started to become more of a loner. A feeling I didn’t belong began to surface, and my desire to steer clear from people started to thrive. By the time I reached adulthood, my social skills were seriously underdeveloped, and some of the character building that generally occurs prior to the work years didn’t happen.

The less I fitted in, the more I repelled against social opportunities.

As I write this now, the more I realise that a strict upbringing also has had a big impact on my growth. Not being able to go out and socialise during the teen years, worked as a catalyst to socialising with my peers. This accelerated my alienation with my friends. I didn’t go out with friends, I didn’t go out and push the boundaries that kids my age were pushing. I was instead almost confined, in an articial environment. It wasn’t long before the protective surroundings became walls of a prison. By the time I had the courage to get over the wall, I didn’t seem to fit in with the real world. My social skills were underdeveloped, I found it difficult to communicate. I had no confidence and each time I made tentative first steps and got my fingers burnt, I would scurry back into my shell; my cave.

Now just over 30, I wonder how those years have shaped me. I have certainly adapted, I get by and certain social skills have improved however I thing it is a crude adaption. The basic foundation of communication is weak and unstable. Certain muscles used for communication have wasted away through lack of use. It is an Achilles heal, something that feels more like an affiliction than simple lack of skill or experience.

So, I think my desire to write is born out of the desire to communicate, to touch people - to be noticed. Not necessarily to tell a story. Perhaps thats why I have often been drawn to capturing snapshots of emotion, or poetry. When it is more about condensed energy, than a story. Perhaps also, not communicating leads to pent up emotion, and writing is just a release.

Do the reasons above invalidate my wish to write, or entirely the opposite.

I have no desire to get something published, but my motivation to write remains mostly extrinsic. That is ultimately why despite any craft or skill I still feel compelled to have a blog. It is a slightly strange situation, that whilst I use my blog for writing practice, the ask of putting it in public view can also trigger self censorship. I would be better off keeping a private journal, were there is more freedom to create. To make mistakes, to expirement, to grow. Somehow the intrinsic motivation isn’t strong enough to do it.

If writing is communicating, and I do it in private, it seems almost too solitary an activity.

So at this crossroads, do I choose to keep a purely private journal, or am I bold enough to keep my blog and work at being less inhibited.

Posted by Andrew on Saturday, June 28th, 2008 at 3:16 pm.