Off-Clock Musings

On Stimulation & Writing

I'll admit, I don't know what motivation is exactly. Perhaps it's because I'm a neuroscience student and my professor said professionals in the field don't quite define it a particular way just yet, so I want to define stimulation—instead of motivation—in my own words before I explain the meaning behind this piece, and I will do so through an example.

I write a chapter. I think it's a good chapter, but I'm aware that my perceptions aren't always common ones, so writing just isn't enough. I need approval and admiration from others for my heart to rest, thus I post on a platform such as Wattpad. The feedback I receive stimulates me to write more and better. I care what people think. Scratch that⁠—I care what readers think, for, if they fancy my writing, then I will fancy my writing too. If a person reads my work, then they have gotten inside my head. I have shared a piece of myself with them, something that I am now trusting they will read with love and care. More often than not, my readers fall in love with my writing, and it helps me feel better about myself. Writing becomes easy at this point, and it becomes even more enjoyable than it was before. I know that my writing is worth writing, so I write non-stop. In no time, I am praised every minute with votes, comments, and follows. Writing is good. Writing is the best. Everyone should do it. I am now on top of the world. I'm a queen, and I'm a desirable writer—the writing queen. There is nothing that can tear me down because I have a supportive base behind me that may look like an army to others, people who are ready to lift me up to my thrown when I need to.

As the sun rays caress my cheeks, my eyes open and close. I hear my brother's parakeets Silver and Blueberry tweet in the distance, and Oreo is staring at me so I can get out of bed and feed him (I'm typing this with one hand because he's on my lap, his head resting on my arm). Little Omar is asking for me, and I lock my door to avoid him; he is talkative, even in the morning, and I don't have the patience a mother has with her children to listen to a toddler speak about irrelevant things. I'm an adult now on my way to becoming independent of the man and woman who have been responsible for me ever since I was nurtured in the womb. I stroke Oreo's tail as he eats out of his bowl, rubbing my eyes with my other hand. I do what I need to do to look presentable to the world albeit I am socially distancing.

I walk around aimlessly, checking my phone. No notifications from Wattpad. Bummer. For a queen, I don't have quite the number of people chasing after me as one may think, and that's because I was dreaming. I'm not queen, nor do most people care for what I have to share with them through tales. I scan the number of followers and reads I have earned. I left them long ago, so they must have left me. I'm not popular, and that's fine, but I'm also not receiving any applauds from anyone for my hard work anymore. Why should I write? I do stop writing, and I am too hesitant to share anything with people. I should only write if I'm a true writer, but I'm not, given that no one is interested in my work anymore. Writing is bad. Writing is the worst. No one should write. I'm now at the bottom of the hierarchy. Anything can tear me down as I do not have anyone swearing by my writing. I do not have a thrown, and no one is here to lift me up, thus I meet the devil when I'm thrown down below. There is no reason to write now, for my writing isn't worth even one read, and I have no one to stimulate me enough to bleed on a piece of paper. My writing, which is a piece of my psyche that I share with others, is just a bunch of random words. There is absolutely no value to them.

Is there an in between? Well, sure there is. There's always an in between, and my in between was the time I wrote a 116k word novel at the young age of sixteen and received thousands of readers (and hundreds of thousands of reads in total). I refuse to read my work today, for I am sure I would be a tad bit embarrassed by my craft, though it's worth noting over sixty percent of my readers were 18-25 and thirteen percent 25-35. I still can't believe that. It is beyond me that I generated a plot that attracted adults when I was just in high school. I was a child still. But I thought about it plenty, and now I see that I received stimulation on an hourly basis, and nothing stimulates me to write more than to see older people enjoying my work. In fact, I was mistaken as a 25-year-old all the time, and I'm not even 25 yet (though, I am growing closer to that age by the day). To have people beg me to update, to see women swooning over a man I created from my imagination, to write over a thousand words an hour while I sat in a class instead of participating in P.E. class due to my surgery recovery was some of the best times in my life (it would be fair to admit I don't have many pleasant experiences in general). I knew that I should write; I was told so, and I knew I must deliver the best craft I could in a timely manner to people who anticipated the consequences of a young mother running away from her husband to save her newborn infant's life.

I'm back now, not necessarily as strong as ever (I like to tell myself that's overrated to pander to myself), but I'm back, looking to write and see what the near future entails for me.

I am now remembering reading a phenomenal section in chapter one of 12 Rules for Life by Dr. Jordan Peterson. He explains how most things people share go unnoticed, that, of the noticed things, only small parts of it gain immense attention. He uses classical composers as an example. Most people know Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, and Chopin. Is all that they have ever written famous? No, only a small minority of what they've written receives the most attention. Even more so, just because something goes unnoticed, it doesn't necessarily mean it isn't good. Sometimes the best things are hidden, never to be revealed to anyone except those who search for it and win it.

I'm a writer, not the first, nor the last. Writing dates back thousands of years, and using the logic from what I just described above, it should not be a surprise to me why I struggle as a writer to gain attention on all my work (or receive constant attention for that matter). Now one must think: Isn't it enough what you have gained, Avalon? Shouldn't you be appreciative? I am appreciative. I always wake up grateful that many people have given my stories a chance, and I have always shown it. I always thank people directly when they show me that they've read my work. In fact, I still have memorized the profile pictures and usernames of many people who have supported me, and they will always be special to me. Best of all, I am very happy that my work has been a pleasant experience for so many people; to know that I have stirred emotions, feelings, and excitement in others through my words is an honor, something I will always be proud of. I love my readers; they make me so happy that I sometimes forgo my personal or academic duties to gift them my work. Frankly, everything I have written so far in this piece of work shows that I thrive off my readers; without them, I am nothing, and with them, I am truly everything. I write for them more than I write for myself, and I wish them the very best for supporting me. Am I still unappreciative after explaining this to you? Maybe. I'll admit, just like I'm not always a bad person, I'm not always a good person either. It's human nature, perhaps, to want more and more even after you have received plenty. Greed? Maybe. I would like to think I'm not greedy though, more so just wanting to have my tales implanted in people's heads so they live on differently from the words I generate. If I can reach the masses, then I will want to do that. I am not the most pleasant person, as you may already think so, but I do have a strong desire to deliver to the world what I can in hopes it will affect individuals in ways that will be beneficial to them.

With that said, if I can't receive stimulation from my readers, then I must find a different way to stimulate myself to write, but I don't exactly want to do that. My readers are my everything, the only thing I want to stimulate me enough to write. Nothing else can ever replace them, for they are priceless and the most valuable of people to me. I love each and every one of them, hence I must find a way to better connect with people so that I can gift to others the tales I think about in the darkness of my small bedroom. I don't want a different solution to this lack of stimulation if it doesn't relate to my readers. I just don't.