This moment in time I try to capture in my words. When all seems hopeless, unattainable and lost. The writer in me despairs. My novel languishes in neglect. The plot confused, the chapters stale, the characters dead.
Within, two forces fight - doubt and confidence. Two voices - negative and positive.
One says you shall never make it, its an illusion, a fantasy, summer dream, a chimera. There is nothing writerly in you. Your style is sloppy, your grammar bad, and your plot is oh so dull.
Another voice counters. It is not what you have, but what you think you have. If you can dream it, you can acheive it. For nature does not give dreams to those who it thinks not fit to achieve.
So now I can choose to languish in doubt and self pity, yield before I have even picked up the sword. Or I can choose to rise up and fight, die in action rather than choosing to surrender. For there is no pain greater than the pain of never having tried.
And therefore, at this moment in time - as these forces within struggle to take control of me - I record this struggle. One of the series of struggles that I fight, in my quest to find the writer within.
Each time I win, becuase I know - I Write Therefore I Am
1 comment:
:-)
Just one question - is it merely the act of writing that defines you, or is it the acceptance of your writing? Does a universal acknowledgement of the writer in you mean more, or that pure feeling of cathartic relief one enjoys after penning down one's thoughts/emotions etc following a furor scribendi mean more to you?
As I said just a question - another one for you to ponder over!
:-)
P.S So now that you've let the cat out of the bag - are you still going to pretend otherwise to the so-far-ignorant?
P.P.S Typo in last line - where's my 50 p? ;-)
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