Why I Write…

I have never thought of myself as a writer, but rather as someone who likes to write. The title of ‘writer’ only seemed applicable to extraordinary people, the ones known across the world and on the best sellers’ lists. I simply write, not because I am an incredible writer but because I enjoy it. Even today, as a 3rd year English and Journalism Writing major, I still do not think of myself as a writer.

Going through school my favourite assignments were English essays, not because I was a nerd but because it gave me an opportunity to create my own stories and say what I wanted to say. When it came time for me to choose a university degree, I felt panicked because nothing quite appealed to me. I was terrified of studying the wrong thing, and had no idea where I wanted to go in life. So I chose the one degree I felt I had passion for, writing.

Yet for the last few years, studying at Rhodes hasn’t made me feel any more like a writer, if anything I feel even less like one than before. There is simply no passion for me to write any more, I write because my lecturer tells me too and I need a good grade, not because I want to. I have lost touch with the girl that simply loved to write. I suppose that is what this blog is for, to give me the space to find my voice once more.

Movies are simply the tool I am using to find it. I have always lived my life in terms of what I see on television and at the cinema. I’ve always wanted a mother as fierce and protective as Sarah Conner from The Terminator, and a secret grandmother that turns out to be the Queen of Genovia, like in The Princess Diaries. I grew up wanting to be sent to boarding school because Harry Potter taught me it would be magical and Wild Child showed me I would make the most incredible friends. I longed to take to the ocean because Pirates of the Caribbean seemed like the greatest adventure, but I grew scared of the dark as Paranormal Activity made me jump at even the slightest bump in the night. My passion for cars and driving grew because I was raised on the smell of burning rubber and petrol from watching The Fast and the Furious too many times, at least until they murdered the franchise.

My point is movies have shaped my life. The problem with that is things hardly ever go the way you expect them to. I didn’t get to go to boarding school, explore the seas or become a princess. These aren’t the only lies movies sold me; it is in the most basic ways that movies have no grasp of my real life. I didn’t come down stairs in the morning to a wonderfully cooked breakfast, nor did the love of my life throw stones at my window in the middle of the night and I sure as hell didn’t get my happily ever after. Perhaps that last one could still come true, and maybe one day I will feel like a writer. After all…the story is not over yet.

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
– Ernest Hemingway


2 thoughts on “Why I Write…

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  1. Yay! Dani, we’re on our way! This is such a fluid and fluent read while delivering the information required by demonstrating your familiarity with this world. the hyperlinks are also terrific. This blog is going to be fun — but it is currently disembodied. Please start to own it by individualising it with your name and other relevant personal details. Thanks for a heartening read,


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