Saturday, 1 June 2013

Reflections of what it is, how it started and how it got to be

It is difficult to know why this all started when I wrote the first words on the virtual paper. In fact, it was always easier to do it this way instead on trying to manually ink my thoughts on the surface of a piece of paper. The morphology of my hands combined with my completely unorthodox way I learned to write slowed my thoughts down in a terribly frustrating way.

Anyhow I managed to fight out my own demons through the process of writing. At first I needed the anger or the extreme feeling of demotion or sadness to spill out my brain on the web, as if I was doing a sacrifice to a god morphed into the huge spider of my uncertain present and future.

Drowning myself into the depths of the substances would help see the muse but soon I discovered it was also tougher to keep her close to me. The observation and the satiated thirst for its existence was more than enough at first, but later the inspiration evaporated like the breath out of my throat in a winter dawn.

The feeling of need to write assaulted me soon after. I didn´t need anyone´s approval since I didn´t believe in anybody anymore. Losing your faith in life includes the lack of belief in people.

The only thing you end up believing is in the process of writing. Sometimes your ego injects a subtle thought of doubt in your brain, telling you that the reason for this is not your talent, your skill or your development: the only reason your writing has no breaks is because it´s broken for the very first moment you do it.

How can something end up broken if it´s already broken from its birth in the brain of the author?

I ended up taking the risk of creating some badly written ideas or simply some blunt concepts if it made my craft run smoother. By doing so, some good ideas and beautifully exposed concepts also surge from it all. No novel or story is perfect. There are parts that basically are dull, consciously or not. You cannot be high all the time.

The lows take you to the highs.

And my moods are like that, as a writer too.

Right now I am starting to like my bad parts too. Those ideas not well expressed, the lack of a more accurate vocabulary or a syntax that easilly can escape through my fingers. I do not fight it any more. I cherish the moment in which my frustration tries to come out and then it hides instantly after.I bored it out completely.

Now the ideas just go and come as a dog that you want to grab to take home but only comes if you are willing to play first. They say a dog is as tied to its owner as the owner is tied to his dog. Difficult to know who owns who at the moment. It is not relevant. We walk hand by hand with our fears, our mistakes and our talents.

It is all us, it is all part of us.

The writing is deep inside me and I have become a part of the process of writing too.

I am ready to accept its consequences, to not hold anything back and go further and further into the horizon with my soul on my hands and my blood filling up the ink reservoir in my brain.

Until the end.

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