scripturient, and the fear of being perceived

Scripturient (adjective) /skrɪpˈtjʊər.i.ənt/

Having a strong, overwhelming, or compulsive desire to write.

I've had this word written in my Notes app for a few years now—I think I saw it in a book once, looked up the definition, and immediately went, "That's me!" Then I tucked it away for a rainy day. It's not raining right now, but I am waiting on a DoorDash order, so this feels like as good a time as any.

I've been an avid reader ever since I can remember, and I started writing as a hobby when I was around nine. I remember writing my first "book" in fourth grade during recess. It was maybe 10 pages long, my bestie drew illustrations for me, and it was a dystopia about a killer cloud-bunny hybrid who decimated a city for no reason. A lot of adults would comment on my active imagination (haha), and I loved getting praised for being creative. As a young girl who had no athletic abilities and little interest in STEM, I thrived on getting validation that I was good at something that I happened to have fun doing.

But by the time I was 10, I realized I had a problem—I loved to create, but I did not like having an audience. I learned this in fifth grade. During the school year, my class took a typical standardized test—Math, Language Arts, Science, Social Studies, blah blah blah—but one part of the test required us to write a narrative story within 30 minutes. After spending five minutes stressing, I just decided to write the first thing that came to mind: an Alice in Wonderland-inspired story about a girl who wakes up in a weird world where everything's opposite; i.e., the grass is blue and the sky is green. I can't remember a ton about the story, but I do remember panicking after my teacher said there were five minutes left, so I wrapped up the story the best way I knew how: by having the girl wake up and suddenly reveal that everything was a dream (cliché, but useful)! I didn't think much about it after turning the test in. Really, I was just happy to have gotten it done in time.

It wasn't until a week or two later, when my teacher was handing back our tests and talking about the assessment, that she eventually revealed there was one student whose story stuck out and was a good example of narrative storytelling. She read it out loud anonymously, and imagine my shock when I realized she was reading my story. I immediately had conflicting feelings—I was so happy to be receiving praise for my work, but hearing my words being read aloud to a room full of my peers made me want to run out of the classroom, never to be seen again. But that day changed my life. Afterwards, my teacher pulled me to the side, praised me for being so creative, and told me I should continue to cultivate it. Shout-out to Mrs. Lynch!

Later that night, I overheard my mom reading the story to one of her friends over the phone, commenting on how she was so happy I was that imaginative. I remember immediately being hit with that same weird mix of emotions: part of me was proud that she thought my story was good enough to share with someone else, and another part of me wanted to crawl into a hole because someone was actually reading my writing. Looking back, I think that was probably the first time I realized just how uncomfortable being perceived could make me—even when the attention was positive.

So now I was aware that I had two conflicting emotions constantly battling: a desire to create and a fear of someone consuming my art and, worst of all, judging me. But I'd always been shy as a kid, and even at that age, I knew I didn't like attention. I hoped it would change when I got older.

Plot twist: it didn't.

I continued to write as a teenager (mostly fanfic, but writing is writing!), but I rarely published it or let anyone read it. Writing was my passion, and yet I cringed anytime my friends and family wanted to see anything I wrote. This feeling followed me to college, where I decided to major in Journalism and Creative Writing. The latter meant I had to write a lot, for multiple different types of classes.

The moment that sticks with me happened during my junior year, when I took a poetry writing class. Every week, students had to write a poem based on a prompt and then have it read aloud and critiqued (constructively) by the whole class. My absolute worst nightmare. I completed the first assignment, a poem I was actually kind of proud of, but when it was time to go to the next class where I'd have to be critiqued, I panicked. My anxiety over the idea of having my poem read got so bad that I just skipped class and took a nap instead (not my proudest moment!).

When I did show up to the next class, my professor pulled me aside and informed me that she was sad I'd been unable to come to class earlier in the week because she loved my poem and was looking forward to discussing it with the class. In that moment, I realized how much my fear of my classmates' opinions and judgment was affecting me. My anxiety had talked me out of having a perfectly pleasant, normal experience that could have helped me cultivate my work.

Because truly, how could I be a writer but run from an audience?

From that moment on, I never missed a critique session, no matter how painful. And the more I write, the more I force myself to let someone actually look at it.

All this to say, this blog is my attempt to not only write, but to be perceived. There's a chance I'm just talking to the void, but there's also a chance someone is reading this, and I want to be comfortable with that. I need to be judged, critiqued, seen.

This is a small first step, but I gotta start somewhere.

Happy reading!

xoxo,

E. 

p.s. I know there's a lot of em dashes but I just like using them and have been using them for years. I promise there's no AI, I just refuse to let the robots take my punctuation from me!!