Today I got up at 4 so I would have more time to be productive.
Having just finished a lesson in creative writing, I got an hour to write this post before heading to work.
A simple question.
What makes a great story or a post?
Is it the title, the author, the number of reads and recommends or do you just read the first post you see when you start up Medium?
To me, it’s all of the above.
When I start up the app, interesting leads show up and I start reading.
Some posts would receive hundreds or thousands of recommendations and others wouldn’t.
I read many posts that receive 100s of likes and comments and they are no better in what I write in essence of educating, informing or entertaining the reader.
If you are trying to attract lots of readers and up the traffic but still figuring out a faster way to scale your readership count;
Keep on writing and create a blog.
You can get a free blog page on wordpress.
Back to the focus of the story.
What got me into writing?
When I first started, I would write to a girl. I would key in how much she meant to me while listening to clocks by cold play or R.E.M’s losing my religion.
After a couple of months, she walked out on me and I had a pile of writings that she never knew about.
I got angry. I hammered my keyboard keys.
I printed the pages and asked, actually begged, her to meet me for just one last time to give her my feelings in a written form.
It was about 30 to 50 pages. I waited for months to hear back but I found out she tossed them in the bin the next day and never read them.
What did I do?
I kept on writing. To and about her.
After I received news that she tossed my feelings in the trash, the desire of writing fired up.
I fell in love with my writings. I would read my words every night before sleep and wake up the next morning with such inspiration and write.
I had so many short and long stories authored but one day I lost them all.
I was crying my knees onto the floor.
They meant so much to me that reading them over and over was my backbone that alleviated the pain of her deserting me.
After many years of deserting writing, I started the process again after I met another girl; this time she was hundred times prettier.
I wrote her essays of feelings, and figured out what triggered the desire to write.
Feelings and emotions were the reason I started writing.
Having not liked me that much, they ignited a writing spark in my life.
I developed the habit putting my thoughts on a piece of paper since.
Because writing makes me feel so alive; it puts me in my utmost comfortable zone.
It makes the world so much more meaningful; contrastingly brighter; vividly pulsing.
It dresses my heart with tailored fit joy.
It synchronizes clear thoughts and transparent emotions through my day, paves the route ahead and shields it against foreign intruding unwanted thoughts.
Sometimes I am so afraid that a thing or two may happen sooner than whenever; maybe that’s another reason I keep on writing.
Life is full of choices; I chose writing for it brings a satisfying moment to my confused self.