It was never really a choice. I can’t remember my life before putting words on paper.
I can’t imagine not putting everything I experience into words and trying to blend that into a piece of magic. I never thought about it though, never thought, my god this is what I should do. It was always a part of me and it was my safety net. So I took it for granted.
When I needed it, I could put pen to paper and write myself clean. Write all my worries away. When I wanted it, I could reread my old self and cry or laugh because things had gotten both progressively better and worse since I once wrote those words. I could change, evolve, pretend, love and be whatever I wanted in words. I could even sugarcoat my own life in my journals (which by the way if I ever did I quickly adjusted because there’s nothing worse than a false memory)
But the moment, the moment I knew I needed — needed not wanted to be a writer — was quite a recent moment. I had always said I’d write books in my spare time. What was I thinking? Who has the “spare” time to write a book? Definitely not a writer. But it just dawned on me, as I was writing (of course) that I needed to share my love of words with the world. I knew there must be people out there who, like me, want to know the inner workings of all our minds.
I thought, if there’s one person in the world who will benefit from something I write, then I will write and write every day until the right words hit the spot.
I have a little sister. She is sunshine and she deserves words of wisdom. Words of love and hope and strength. She deserves to know there is someone out there feeling this exact way. When I see the way her eyes light up as I tell her stories at night, and when I hear her voice questioning, questioning about what happens when and what do you if etc etc. When she told me I should write that book soon I thought, you’re right. I should. Every day. I should write. Good or bad they are words, they hold the power to change and move and learn. Every word is another word towards that book. She gave me the push and the hope I needed to move.
I think that’s why I feel to need to make every conservation perfect. The need to have every word spotless and shining and filled to the brim with just the rawest emotions. It’s the reason I make the most everyday conversations in my head into something beautiful. It’s why I imagine my last words to people as cliffhangers, for them to find their own meaning in. To discover what it is exactly I meant and how important these simple yet meaningful words are to me.
And I hope that they can find their own meaning in them. I want people to find home in the words I speak and write. For people to be able to relate to them and find comfort and consolance. I want my words to heal and help. I remember one time someone told me, “It’s okay Izzy, you don’t have to find the perfect way to say it,” that’s when it clicked on my head. The reason I didn’t tell people things quickly was because I hadn’t found the magic words and that’s when I knew I needed to be a writer. I didn’t want my words to be aimless and not mean anything. I wanted them to be thrilling and dripping with truth and vulnerability. I could never just spit it out. But I could always write it out.
So that what is we must do. Continue expressing ourselves through whichever form we find suits us best. Words, dance, art, magic. You’ll find your niche. You’ll find you way too immortalise yourself through art. In the years to come, those thoughts may be gone but what matters is that they were there and you had the courage and creativity to express them in their rawest form. You’ll find your equivalent to words. And when you do, you’ll write one incredible book.