Skip to main content

Write Whatever You Want

This is probably the most obvious thing you've ever heard/read about writing: write whatever you want.


This is it. You've finally motivated yourself, and a startling burst of courage makes you place your fingers on the keyboard (or pick up your writing instrument). The white blankness of the page awaits you.

And then suddenly, you're doubting yourself. Thoughts like these begin to bombard you:

Can I really write this?

Is it worth publishing?

What do I even write? 

I'm just going to straight up say: Write.

Write whatever you want to write. Your thoughts, a random story, a poem about the tedious job of staring at blank pages all the time. It doesn't matter.

Just write.

Write about anything you're passionate about. What motivates you? What do you want to say to the world?

Write about anything you like. Even if the topic isn't in demand. Even if no one's interested in it. Keep those words flowing.

If you think your words can help humanity and the earth, write.

Because if you're not passionate about what you write about, those words will fall flat. You'll lose interest. You'll get bored and you'll scrap your work. And then you'll lose hope, and maybe you'll start to think:

Why am I even doing this? I should be doing something more productive.

So when I say write, write about what you're passionate about. Write about anything you want. Write if you've got something to say to the world.

Go forth and write,
     Germaine
     1 Corinthians 16:14

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Ostrich short story

She holds her elegant neck high above the masses which she saunters through. Like a diva at a show she flaunts her plumes, casts a wary eye about for rivals, and turns up her nose at her drab brown and cream comrades.  Behold, an animal of distinction and refinement. Here is the ostrich, queen of the winged kingdom. Around her, antelope bow their heads in shame, cringing at their inferiority. Where she steps the grass seems to wither in embarrassment. Even the sun seems reluctant to disgrace her chestnut and ivory feathers. Stop. Look around. Sour musk lines the brisk breeze. She lowers the foot which was held aloft a moment ago, her previously serene expression now one of incandescent disapproval. The antelope prick up their ears. A glimpse of golden pelt in the grass and an explosion of hooves signifies the beginning of the chase. She runs like a demon, head pointed forward and wings outstretched. Long legs kick up turf, spraying it into the streak of gold fur b...