I write what I like..Part I

I write what I like...Part I

I have struggled to be a continuous writer throughout my life. Well ever since I became conscious of the fact that I wanted to write. I just thought I would write, not giving too much thought to the genre, the style of writing or anything like that: I wanted to be damn writer, so who cares what you write and how as long as I could write right?

If only it were so easy.

I started writing in my teenage years, with diaries and poems, short stories and tons and tons of stories that were envisioned to be books one day. Teenage romance, thrillers, stories similar to great Jane Austen classics with diluted and dull characters with great dialogue stolen out of the very classic novels I had been inspired by. Awful, even I cringe at the memory.

My father thought I was collecting papers that would be better off recycled and out they went one day. I kept them in a suitcase that I had since I was 10. It is not so much the love for the suitcase, as it was made of carton and had a jeans pattern on the outside, but more for the treasure that lay within. I have to admit it was a hurricane mess, it took a whole day for me to assemble the papers that made up one story, so not even I knew what was plotting (yes please note that pun) in that suitcase. And as soon as the family saw that it was excuse enough to get rid of it.

I was not sad nor depressed, I was just a little surprised that they could not see my ingenuity and that I would write and write and had (wait for it) stumbled on a gold mine of writing. But no such luck, the family cheered and danced when that old suitcase was finally dumped away, while I walked around in silence thinking up the next story, just to show them!!

Of course I had a great deal to learn about structure and language and the English tenses were also not the easiest for me to grasp. I wrote in very romantic and sophisticated forms and used words I had never heard used in speech. My synonym dictionary was my best friend, but it took another 5 years for me to learn its proper function in my writing life. I did not make sense and so I had to learn to be myself and find my own voice from where I could tell my kind of stories, my way.

It was not about rewriting Jane Austen or Mark Twain, I had to write about stuff I knew, understood and be led by my heart.

I wrote thousands of letters to friends across oceans and friends I saw each day and never got tired of writing another 10 page reply. I learnt to write the way I would tell a well thought out story around a dinner table and so slowly I began to find the true writer within me.

As I went on to varsity I needed to find freedom celebrating living alone away from parents and the crazy party me came out in full force and wanted to cause havoc everywhere she went. Unfortunately writing was now labelled boring and immature, so the pen and paper did not see the light of day until second year.

I wrote here and there and even had an boyfriend at the time who found my writer's stash (yes indeed another had meanwhile collected) and actually encouraged me to be a better writer. He too wrote, so it all made perfect sense. I was becoming.

I wonder why we tell stories to people who don't know us,

but who are kind enough to condone us 5 minutes of their lives

Since I know I got to be wise, I ponder and think about issues to address

every breath lost is a moment irretrievable

I imagine it is like a governor preparing to address congress

or a songstress her thousands of fans in her barely there dress

So I take the hands of time and express my sole desire to acquire life eternal

to reconnect with my paternal, who has given me the gift of life

and enable me to illuminate the dark paths with the light

that's why I write

PICTURE:

I call this picture fishing for great ideas, because as a writer that is what I am suppose to be doing all the time. Too bad I get a little lazy along the way, but I am always inspired to push and create, break down and recreate, any day any time, after that soda and that movie and that phone call....sigh.