Monthly Archives: June 2014

Why I write

Why do I write?
The short answer is: I write to make sense of myself.
The truth is, I honestly have very little clue how people perceive me; it’s all a shifting, relative mass.
I’m soft-spoken…until I’m a train barreling down on your argument. I’m laid-back…until I’m inflexible. I’m an ice-queen until I’m shooting flames out my eyes. If it’s confusing for me to keep track of myself, I can’t really blame others for misunderstanding me.
This is something that an accurate MBTI personality type has really, well for lack of a better word, soothed me. I’m not a freak, a failure, a freakin’ weirdo. I’m actually completely normal for my rare personality type (4% of the population).

But back to the question of why I write. I’m constantly thinking and if I’m not thinking, I’m feeling. Sometimes I do both at the same time. In other words, I see a lot and I’ve got a lot to say.
But I’m reserved. If I don’t know the “protocol” for a situation, I tend towards shyness. When not in the circle of close family and friends, I become a listener more than a speaker. I’m an introvert: social interactions don’t recharge me, but instead slowly drain my batteries. I love people, but I can only take so much before I need some where quiet to process. When I find myself at the center of attention, I become self-conscious. When speaking, I often stumble over my words. Sometimes I’m good for a off-the-cuff spiel, but most of the time, ideas have to percolate. Like an actor who’s amazing on-screen but stiff in interviews, I feel empowered through my art. Through my words on a screen, I achieve an eloquence beyond my faltering soft/harsh voice. It’s not that I’m escaping through my writing, becoming someone else through it…no, never that. I am very happy with the person I’ve become. What comes out my fingers isn’t wish-fulfillment, it’s interpretation. It’s either me interpreting the world to myself, or myself to the world. Occasionally, it’s both.
People can know me for years and still feel like they don’t really know me…but read something I’ve written and you’ve met the real Hannah Hedges. In my writing, I hold very little to nothing back; I CAN’T. There’s an invisible trust between me and my keyboard: no lies allowed here. Everything must ring true, whether I’m reviewing a movie or describing my day or writing a scene in a story.

Why do I write? Because I have to. Because I am a dichotomy, the union of opposites and I have this pathological need to understand myself. Because the shy, small girl sees things and doesn’t have the “umph” or the abandon to give soliloquies in McDonalds. Because the reckless crusader can’t brawl out all the idiots in person. Because stories haunt me like my own personal entourage of ghosts. Or gaggle of invisible friends.
Because if the words don’t flow from my fingers to the keyboard, they take to hammering at the inside of my skull and that freaking hurts.

Categories: INFP, ordinary life, Writing | Tags: | 4 Comments

Father’s Day

Dear Dad,
There’s a convention in story-telling: the Absent Father. (It probably has its roots in the old Greek hero tales where the father was a god–mostly Zeus–who must return to the realm of the gods after making a baby with the hot chick that caught his attention on that particular trip to Earth.) the Absent Father is, duh, absent during the formative years of his child’s life. They only show up and take credit for their child when that child has proven themselves worthy. Basically, The Absent Father doesn’t change diapers, clean boo-boos, play “let’s pretend”, give “The Talk” or stand firm in the many faces of adolescence.

I have no idea how it feels to grow up without a dad. I can’t remember a time when, growing up, I was afraid you’d walk out on Mom, Michael and I. Whenever I worried about you not coming home, it was always something external keeping you from us. I never even considered the possibility that you would, of your own free will, walk out on us.
Because I always knew you loved us, even when we were/are annoying the crap out of each other.

Congratulations, Dad, you’re not a Zeus or Poseidon kind of father. Nor are you like Vader or Denethor. You’re more in the vein of Jonathan Kent and for that I am eternally grateful.

I love you. Sorry this is over a week late!

Categories: ordinary life | 3 Comments

Radio silence

This poor blog, I feel like I’ve neglected it for quite some time now.
Truth is, I haven’t done much in the way of writing lately; been too busy working.

Last Tuesday, I celebrated my 24th birthday. It doesn’t seem possible: 24 is the number of hours in a day, a TV show which (like its main character) just won’t die. It’s not an age that I ever gave much thought to. Sometimes I wish I could stay 22 and 23 forever…they were good ages. But here I am, one year shy of a quarter century.
At least when people guess my age nowadays, they guess 19-20 instead of 16. Count your blessings, I guess!

Hopefully in the next week or so, I’ll get back into the rhythm of regular writing. It’s just a fact of life that I can’t write when I’m tired, and with all this overtime I’ve been putting in because I need the money, words and downtime are in short supply.

Categories: ordinary life | 2 Comments

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