January 17th, 2014
For as long as I can remember I have been writing my heart out on paper. I never understood what ever pushed me to pursue this hobby but I found great comfort in writing to myself about...well, myself ! No one else seemed to be as interested in piecing my puzzle as I was. I also found refuge in books and escaping to different realities, not that I wanted to flee from something specific (as far as I know) but to go somewhere without the hassle of actually paying, traveling and packing.
The memory of my favorite "vacation" began with "A Series of Unfortunate Events" by the infamous Lemony Snicket. I wanted to be the deceivingly cute Sunny, the brainiac Klaus with each word he defines, tie my hair up to solve problems like the brilliant Violet. Frankly, their story was despairing and hapless but I joined them for the ride willingly from one novel to the next. I embraced the author's macabre taste, his writing as mysterious as his own life. I love books about memoirs and reencounters. I love digging into innocent pasts that unravels itself; it was my call as to when to turn the page. I sought to do that in my writing, that is, if ever anyone got to read my work. I was and probably still am a possessive and secretive person. I feared letting people in to understand and analyze my thoughts because that was MY secret that I was entitled to.
I will admit I don't recall "The Diary of Ann Frank," which surprises me because of how much I aspire to one day be revealed through my writing by accident. Is that weird? Well, those were my thoughts earlier on.
In my writings, I found myself hiding identities of the people around me. Every single person had a codename I fabricated and now even I struggle to decipher whom I wrote about ! I was fearful of being opposed and critiqued for what I was feeling. I still am because I appreciate my readers now that I made the step to publicized my work; however, the indirect approach to never naming out loud and in writing was a censor to my creativity. I was free to say many things subliminally and I have been doing so whether they get published or tucked away deep in my closet, but that brought me more ambiguity than answers throughout my journey as a writer.
What's this schpeil all about?
Say what you mean and mean what you say. Be unapologetic to yourself in your passions and hobbies, you deserve your honesty and your peace. Remove the censored tape from your hands and your mouth; exhale the hurt and confusion, seek to stretch your understanding of yourself in any way possible.
For as long as I can remember I have been writing my heart out on paper. I never understood what ever pushed me to pursue this hobby but I found great comfort in writing to myself about...well, myself ! No one else seemed to be as interested in piecing my puzzle as I was. I also found refuge in books and escaping to different realities, not that I wanted to flee from something specific (as far as I know) but to go somewhere without the hassle of actually paying, traveling and packing.
The memory of my favorite "vacation" began with "A Series of Unfortunate Events" by the infamous Lemony Snicket. I wanted to be the deceivingly cute Sunny, the brainiac Klaus with each word he defines, tie my hair up to solve problems like the brilliant Violet. Frankly, their story was despairing and hapless but I joined them for the ride willingly from one novel to the next. I embraced the author's macabre taste, his writing as mysterious as his own life. I love books about memoirs and reencounters. I love digging into innocent pasts that unravels itself; it was my call as to when to turn the page. I sought to do that in my writing, that is, if ever anyone got to read my work. I was and probably still am a possessive and secretive person. I feared letting people in to understand and analyze my thoughts because that was MY secret that I was entitled to.
I will admit I don't recall "The Diary of Ann Frank," which surprises me because of how much I aspire to one day be revealed through my writing by accident. Is that weird? Well, those were my thoughts earlier on.
In my writings, I found myself hiding identities of the people around me. Every single person had a codename I fabricated and now even I struggle to decipher whom I wrote about ! I was fearful of being opposed and critiqued for what I was feeling. I still am because I appreciate my readers now that I made the step to publicized my work; however, the indirect approach to never naming out loud and in writing was a censor to my creativity. I was free to say many things subliminally and I have been doing so whether they get published or tucked away deep in my closet, but that brought me more ambiguity than answers throughout my journey as a writer.
What's this schpeil all about?
Say what you mean and mean what you say. Be unapologetic to yourself in your passions and hobbies, you deserve your honesty and your peace. Remove the censored tape from your hands and your mouth; exhale the hurt and confusion, seek to stretch your understanding of yourself in any way possible.
Thank you for all the people I have met and conversed with from early mornings to late nights from book signings to coffeehouses from the past 48 hours; thank you authors, strangers, old friends, and new.
"It's not writer's block; it's heart block." -Alexandra Elle
