Writing as Therapy

I’ve always loved writing, and it’s proven to be pretty much the only thing that provides me with any real satisfaction. Sure, it can be fun to watch a film, and there’s little to match the high of an enthralling book, but there’s nothing provides me with the same degree of satisfaction as creating, and writing is my preferred method of creation.

Over the past couple of years in particular, as I’ve suffered increasingly from anxiety and depression, writing has been my saving grace. Well, writing and the invaluable support of my wife.

As such, recently I’ve been trying to write a lot more and in different forms: bits of novels, full short stories, the odd poem. It will also be evident that I’ve started to blog more, and it truly is a wonderful feeling to put your thoughts down in writing, even if hardly anyone one reads them. In fact, especially because hardly anyone reads them: I hate letting other people read my writing. It’s absolutely mortifying to know that someone might be poring over my words; I’m embarrassed by praise and stung by criticism.

Blogging feels like a sort-of halfway house when it comes to putting writing in the public domain, because it’s available to anyone and yet there’s no real pressure. I don’t charge people to read my blog, so I don’t feel as though I have to justify the existence of anything published on it, either in terms of quality or content, whereas if I publish a book and ask people to pay for it, then it can be justifiably reviewed and critiqued. I’m not saying that I don’t ever want to publish books, it’s more the case that right now I’m happy just to write. I’m enjoying the process.

So, I’m going to continue trying to write on a daily basis, even if it’s just a blog post or a few thoughts that can be shaped into something else later on. I’ll see where it takes me.