Writing in the prosaic sense, is the truest way of expressing one's opinionated ideology. In writing, whether it is a novel, novella, article etc. you can express a view more in depth than as you could in oration. While speaking your words can be misconstrued with emotion and ambiguity can arise, a written work can often get your point across as plainly as you want it to. Authors have addressed there reason for writing with various messages in mind that they wish to convey through literature (http://web.calstatela.edu/faculty/jgarret/308/readings-4.pdf). George Orwell describes aesthetic motivation backed by political bias as a main point behind many authors’ reasons to write. However, I don’t consider myself to be a writer of the same category, at least not yet.
Throughout my literary career, I’ve been able to form together words legibly enough to get good grades and to impress high school teachers, but they have been just that, formations of words. Behind them were merely ideas and rhetoric purely based on moving through school with enough credits to get on to the next grade. In the back of my mind I’ve always meant to write stories by my own time, but things tend to interrupt the thought process of the youth. Parties, schoolwork, drinking, smoking, sex and a multitude of other distractions get in the way of artistic expression in teenagers. Without a sense of longing or drive to keep me going I fell into the disparaging afflictions of revelry. Though these distractions are not for naught, they provide a certain context in anyone’s life that can add to their own personal story. This is often shown diligently in a writer’s motif and can lead to great and inspiring works.
In college, I am free to write how I see fit, and holy shit that is fucking liberating. I hope to strengthen my skills as a writer and learn better and more concise techniques to eloquently elaborate myself via the figurative pen and paper. I may not choose to make a career in it, but it will be a useful skill to have in the next years of this jaunt I call a life.
Throughout my literary career, I’ve been able to form together words legibly enough to get good grades and to impress high school teachers, but they have been just that, formations of words. Behind them were merely ideas and rhetoric purely based on moving through school with enough credits to get on to the next grade. In the back of my mind I’ve always meant to write stories by my own time, but things tend to interrupt the thought process of the youth. Parties, schoolwork, drinking, smoking, sex and a multitude of other distractions get in the way of artistic expression in teenagers. Without a sense of longing or drive to keep me going I fell into the disparaging afflictions of revelry. Though these distractions are not for naught, they provide a certain context in anyone’s life that can add to their own personal story. This is often shown diligently in a writer’s motif and can lead to great and inspiring works.
In college, I am free to write how I see fit, and holy shit that is fucking liberating. I hope to strengthen my skills as a writer and learn better and more concise techniques to eloquently elaborate myself via the figurative pen and paper. I may not choose to make a career in it, but it will be a useful skill to have in the next years of this jaunt I call a life.