That Stupid Brain Again.

I have some things, that I always do before going to bed. It’s not much, but it is important for me to have some kind of ritual, otherwise I would probably stay up all night, or have serious problems falling asleep. First I brush my teeth, wash my face with whatever face wash I am using at the moment, say goodnight to my family, browse through some pages on 9gag while talking with my boyfriend on the phone. After the good nights, I watch my computer shut down (a sign that I am really gonna sleep, cause I will not turn it on again) while putting some lotion on my arms ’cause they get really dry (TMI?). Then I make my bed because it always gets messed up when I am talking with my boyfriend, I can’t sit still while I am on the phone, fact. Lights get’s turned off, but then I remember that I forgot to get some water (I always forget). Water get’s fetched and lights are out again. I am always tired by this point, so I just lay down and find whatever position is comfortable (usually on my side fetus style).

And that’s when it happens. Instead of my brain shutting down and letting me get some sleep, it starts working (if it did this doing my exams, I would’ve gotten so much better grades).

Ideas. Awesome ideas. A new story maybe, or a perfect ending. Something. I am awake enough  to understand and think about these things, but too tired to actually write them down. And the next day I, of course, can’t remember much of it. It is seriously annoying and it makes me hate not only my brain, but myself as well.

If these ideas would only come to me, when I am not half dead, I would be writing a lot more.

Anyway, I have added a new thing to my bedtime ritual: Put a notebook and pen next to my bed. Let’s see if I can write some good stuff then.

If you haven’t noticed already, I’ll tell you that I really don’t put any thought into what I write here. I have subject I wanna write about and then… I just write. That is why I sometimes change the subject and things may not may sense. I apologize, but I cannot change it. Sorry :D.

Btw, thanks to you that are actually fucking reading this, and sorry for wasting a few minutes of your life :).

– Mie.


I said it before and I’ll say it again

I have no real aspirations of becoming a published author or of the likes of that. My passion is writing, and on some level it is the foundation of me. If I stopped writing, I completely believe that I would not feel the same way as I do now. Not as happy and down to earth. It keeps me sane, and it’s something that I can always find refugee in, and lose myself in. It’s not a hobby though either. I’m not sure how to explain how I feel with writing and how I would feel without it. It has always been, what I’ve been best at. I might not be perfect at wording a sentence, but I feel creative. I should probably point out that english is not my first language, and I was thought how to write properly (I’m talking about grammar here) in Danish. I do however prefer to write in english. It’s easier for me to express myself in this language, even though every word may not be spelled right. It’s the language my ideas come in, and if I try to translate it, some of its originality dies.

I am hoping that I can find a job that I’ll love as much as writing, even though as I ma writing this I know it will never happen. A job I like then. I will work to put bread on the table and then I’ll find time to write.

I write everyday. Whether it’s changing a few details in a story or maybe I’m in my full-blown super writing mode. I write. I hope that I will never stop.

Of course I would love to publish some of my work here, that is if there’s enough people who would want to read some of it. It is very private to me, but I would love to get critiqued. I don’t say that often..

– Mie.

Why I love writing

A lot of people has asked me why I write so much, and what makes me like it.

Well, I look at it this way: If I didn’t write, I would probably live with all of the crazies. I’m the quiet girl. Except on paper. I have so many thoughts in my head, and if I didn’t turn them into a plot, I’m not sure what would happen, but I so do not wanna find out. I am not really socially awkward, I know how to make conversation, I would just rather not. Writing is how I express myself. Even though most of my stories had nothing to do with myself, I get to clear my mind. It’s not even the things that I write that mean so much to me, even though I am very passionate about it. It’s the sound of the keyboard clicking, to watch lead on paper, the feeling writer with a pen and just the absolute freedom.

I am me, writing about people who aren’t me. I may want to be like them or maybe I am disgusted by them. But I am creating them. They are mine.

I’ve always had a wild imagination. Always making up stories. My parents called it lying. But the feeling was so big. I am not a pathological liar, no. And it wasn’t until I started school and my teacher told us to go home make up a story I found my soul mate. I wasn’t smart or got good grades, and I hated that kid that always had to remind the teacher about homework. But I became that person, who begged for an essay to write. A novel, anything! It wasn’t always A+ material that I wrote, but boy did I feel good whilst I was writing. I have no aspirations to become a famous writer, I just hope that in my future there will be time for me to just sit down and pour my thoughts out. “You know there are therapists out there who can help with these thoughts, right?”. Thanks Dad. If I thought something was wrong with me, wich I don’t I would see a therapist, no worries. But it’s the actual writing that does it for me.

I love writing. I love the peace it brings. I love how clear my mind feels after. I love the way all of the thoughts are yelling and pushing, trying to get out of my head and onto paper. I love creating people, care about them, write their future, past and memories.

I love me when I write.

– Mie.