When writing research articles, authors must keep their language formal (Welty, 2016). They must use citations, attempt to eliminated passive voice, and follow strict rules according to their discipline’s formatting style (Welty, 2016). Researchers must carefully formulate new ideas and theories in order to avoid mistakes in their conclusions (Welty 2016). Every new idea forms from a previous one, with every sentence originating from another article (Welty 2016).

While this style of writing gets the author’s message across, it leaves no room for creativity or originality (Welty 2016). I long for a way to express myself through powerful, passionate prose, but the restraints of research writing confine, restrict, and hold my mind hostage to its structure. The lack of emotion in research text also contributes to a lack of emotion during reading (Welty, 2016). Readers search only for information, not for sentimental value or entertainment (Welty, 2016). I want to feel when I write. I want whoever is reading to feel. I don’t want to worry about this being “frowned upon for this format” or that being “probably not wise to include”. I want the power to propel people’s positions on what writing means, and what it means to read the writings of others.

Past research has shown the need for research-purposed writing, but has yet to examine the impact of this writing style on the psyche of its authors (Welty 2016). Does writing dry words leave other authors with parched hands, thirsting for the relief of true language? At times, I gaze through my own written words with eyes that see only a void of emotional nothingness behind them. Research writing has its place in scholarly environments, and is an important way to get information to readers who only need information (Welty 2016).

Too often I find myself realizing the words that I have written mean nothing; they exist strictly for the purpose of showing something else exists. When I am free to express, move, and propel my thoughts and as through my words were bulls raging down the streets of Spain; that is when I am writing. I am not writing when I put words down on paper. I am not writing when I type away at my keyboard with statistics and formalities. I am not writing when I repeat the ideas the minds before me have discovered. I am writing when it’s the late hours of the night, and I scribble down my thoughts that keep me awake.

I am writing when sparks fly from the keyboard as the hammers that are my fingers tirelessly forge the scorching words. I am writing when my own mind’s discoveries plunge down my nervous system and through my fingertips in a flurry of discovery and graphite. I write for me, and I write for a mind that longs to be free from its box. Research writing style holds my mind captive for now, yet, at the gates of its prison, my creativity looms, silently holding the key.