Everyone’s got a “fan base” when it comes to the anticipation of a project. You’ve got people rooting for their artist friends when their creativity has only gone as far as an idea in the moment. It seems as though those friends that claim to be your #1 fans fade away when you make your ideas a reality. Your art comes to life, and the crowd goes silent.
In my own world, writing to me is my art. I have been writing short stories, narrating my life’s chronicles, and expressing my deepest and purest emotions on paper for as long as my hands would write + type. The fire I feel inside my mind oozes through the tips of my fingertips onto the faded keys of my keyboard. It’s what makes me an artist. Ever since I was a little girl, my mind never stopped aligning sequences of images into one, never-ending personal narrative. I go about my day and conceptualize an entirely different reality. This fictionalization of my reality would then bleed onto paper, no matter how obscure.
As I got older, I realized that my passion for writing can be my voice without volume. Without speaking, I can use writing and my passion for expression to move the people around me. I can paste my mind onto a screen with the tapping of my fingers, all while captivating readers’ perceptions of their own lives. My intention is not to change anyone’s mind. When I get emotional, it is not to evoke pity. When I am proud of myself, it is not to evoke envy. My writing is my outlet of expression; a platform that I could use to string my thoughts together in one, compressed space. However, let me tell you what my intention actually is.
As a 19-year-old college student, my life may have just begun, but it has been one hell of a rollercoaster. I have been through pitfalls that have left me bumped and bruised for a very, very long time. I have cried waterfalls, yelled until my voice had no tone, harmed until cuts became scars, and scars became reminders, and reminders eventually became growth. With every downfall, I turned to writing to help me reinvent myself in a whole new reality, outside of the one that was hurting me every day. But not once did I give up. Not once did I stay down. Writing helped me turn pain into power. That power, no matter how slight, spoke volumes not only for myself, but for those around me. Starting this blog, my purpose in life became being the written voice for those whose voices crack under pressure, whose eyes get flooded with tears when they get hurt, whose hands shake when their anxiety about life is too overpowering.
I do NOT know where these people have been. I do NOT know what their lives look like. I have never stepped a single day in their shoes—but I have lived through mine. My writing, my words are my experiences, but get this. . .writing doesn’t have one, set perception. What I write about can be taken and related to however the readers please, and that’s the beauty of it. Apply your life to my experience and do with that whatever will bring you peace of mind. What I share on a page is my choice, and the way you interpret it is none of my business.
My blog page, in general, is not a business. It has no monetary value; I make no profits. But it still makes me an artist. I choose to surround myself with artists because their creativity and passion for the arts fuels mine. The predisposition of supporting your artist friends has no nominal value that can be counted, and that’s where a lot of “fans” get confused. Supporting your artist friends isn’t just buying merch, donating money for publishing assistance, investing something monetary… No amount of money will suffice in comparison to being present. Anyone can click a link, insert a debit card, and call it a day. But it’s the people who share your work. It’s the people who sit with you late at night while you’ve got writers block, and it’s making you frustrated. It’s the people who don’t stop rooting for you when you make your ideas real. Those who share your work, even if they can’t relate to it. There are many people who claim to be a part of your support system, but when you start pushing through your journey, you’re pulling yourself up on your own.
I have learned the importance of what my other artist friends mean to me. We’re all on our own journeys. We’re following our own paths, but we feel each other’s struggles as our own. Being an artist isn’t easy. There are roadblocks, self-destruction, discouragement… but our community sticks with us through all of it. Even if you aren’t an artist, being present for your artist friends goes miles. Our creativity can set wildfires, and honest support when we’re ready to give up can be the one match to spark it.
Special dedication to: Amer Begić, author of resurrected., for his unconditional support, presence, and acceptance, from one artist friend to another. Macrocosm coming soon. To every person who has supported my writing, this blog, and me in general, I appreciate you immensely.
Mel's Vision 