Many believe that writers are people who have been published or are well-known for their work. I would suggest that a writer is simply one who writes. A thinker. However, I want to focus on the writer who writes consistently. This person has a relationship with writing that goes far beyond assignments and deadlines. For these writers, pondering on questions, experiences, and ideas provoke the need to express the emotions they bring with them.
I write; therefore, I am a writer. However, I have long fought the urge to call myself a writer due to the cognitive dissonance that surrounds the title. I gave myself reasons for why I don’t measure up as a writer: English is not my first language, I am a terrible speller, I don’t read as much as I should, no one has ever read anything I’ve written, and the list goes on. So, I had to do some soul searching because I owed an honest answer to the writer in me.
For as long as I can remember, I was always drawn to the art of storytelling. There is something beautifully unsettling and mysterious about it. Literature has the power to shape cultures, civilizations, and the course history as we know it. As Christians, we stand firm in the faith that we have because of the written Word. Let that sink in. I was aware of this truth when I began writing—well, that is when I had a working knowledge of the English language. Thinking back on my early teens, I realized that everything I wrote existed because I made the decision to write. I practiced forming the intensity of my thoughts and experiences into words that made sense to me. I wrote poems, songs, and short stories. I witnessed my very own words healing, teaching, and inspiring me to write some more. Now, I must admit, the English writing of an immigrant teenager might not raise any eyebrows or call for applause, but it was writing, nonetheless. It made me the person I am today in so many ways. It has morphed into a time capsule, a glitch in time that allowed me to capture and preserve the person I was when I wrote those words.
To be a writer means to communicate with one’s self first. The mind and language have a verbal agreement on how ideas should be expressed, conveyed, and recorded. This, complemented by the power of imagination and critical thinking skills, produces written works. The possibilities are endless. One story can be told, argued, and expressed in a million different ways.
Writers are also always writing; even when they do not have access to pen and paper or a computer. They are processing ideas, feelings, and emotions in expressive ways. They are translating them into the language of their hearts and minds. The degree of eloquence, brilliance, and popularity might vary amongst them, but they have one thing in common: writers are students at heart; they are taking copious notes from the lessons life offers.
Nervously tapping my pencil against the edge of the desk, I anxiously glanced around the library. Everyone else seemed so focused, so confident, so productive. Sighing, I mustered up all the leftover brainpower provided from my morning cup of Joe, and decisively read through the essay prompt again. Unfortunately, the third attempt also ended in failure. Even after several efforts to brainstorm ideas, my mind seemed as empty as a swimming pool in the Sahara. Accusatory thoughts of comparison began to torment me, leading to feelings of fear and incapability. Believing the lies, I wallowed in self-pity and began to give up hope that a convincing point could ever be made about the overwhelming topic.
Owl Things Considered 
