Like many other writers here on Medium, writing is a deep-seated impulse inside of me. I cannot help but write when the words come to me, because they give me no rest when they do. The words build and build, until the internal pressure can only be released when I release those words. I don’t have much work to demonstrate this, strange though that may sound. Why? Perhaps it’s best to tell my story.
My first influence in my learning journey was my Mum. She taught me to read and write before I started school. She encouraged me, and my siblings, to use encyclopaedias, to use the dictionary, all of which we had. She encouraged us to not just ask, but investigate, find the answer where logic dictated where it could be found. My parents always watched TV programmes which were learning sources — wildlife, documentaries, the news. We grew up in an environment where saying ‘I dunno’ was not the answer.
Later, I read classic stories, and myths and legends. My religious upbringing meant that I had a knowledge of the Bible, and a sense of spiritual understanding of myself and the world around me.
Starting To Write
It’s hard to say when I began writing as a hobby. It would have been fiction at that time. I remember in the Junior School (around 10–11 years old) writing a story based on something my teacher had asked of us. That story went on forever, as I developed idea after idea. One day my teacher said to me ‘you really need to find an ending now.’ My indignation did no such thing, after all, I was writing a block-buster!
Later as a teenager, I entered a writing competition. I didn’t win, but I got a commendation. It was then that I knew that I had a knack for writing. Further in Senior School, I started to get to know Shakespeare’s works. I wrote a story based on the dream Macbeth had, and received one of the highest marks in the class.
Poetry
In Senior School I also discovered poetry. The first poem I remember learning to recite was Leisure by W H Davies. I remember loving the feel and flow of the words as they meandered gently, like a wild horse on a moor. That seemed to have triggered something, something dormant or completely unknown. From then on I could feel the rhyme and meter of my own words, and wrote things in the depth of me, or just plain silly.
I started to get to know poets, bought anthologies, and was inspired by W B Yeats and Hilaire Belloc. In my twenties, I came across vanity press publishers who looked for submissions, and had several poems published.
But I felt there was something missing. I couldn’t identify what it was. Having poems published was all very well, but there was something intangible about having one published, and then empty nothingness. It wasn’t because that vanity publishing meant not being paid, or having to buy a book to see it in print.
I doubted myself in my writing, the purpose of it all. I couldn’t see the direction I wanted to take. Then it was that I stopped writing poetry. All writing then took a back-step as I embarked on an office career.
Blogging
After 15 years, and enforced unemployment due to health problems, I then found a new outlet for writing — blogging.
It took time to get the feel for writing again, but I found it constructive for my confidence and for finding my writing voice. I’ve always been a rather shy, unconfident person, but this new way of writing and publishing began re-establishing my confidence in my ability.
It took time. Lots of time.
Doubts re-surfaced, anguish over my wording. Then it dawned on me one day what the real problem was — I cared too much about what others thought. I allowed the thought of what others thought to dominate my writing. It was spoiling the enjoyment of writing. Once I removed that, then it became so much more of a pleasure. Even now I get doubts. It happens. But I now know that I can overcome it.
Several blogs later, I’m here on Medium. It was time for a more public outlet for my writing. I’ve been finding writers who feel as I do about writing, and I feel encouraged by that alone — that I’m not alone. I’ve discovered spirited individuals, deep thinkers, poetic treats and a desire for progress. I’ve been drinking it in and enjoying the moment. Finally, I’ve found my direction. I guess I’ll be here for sometime to come.
This article was originally publish on Medium.
Charlotte Clark 