I’m no writer and I wish I am

Although sometimes I pretend to be.

I just finished reading Eileen Goudge’s 1998 novel: Thorns of Truth and now as I take my 1 hour break at work, I don’t know what else to do. So I’ve been reading Wikipedia articles, jumping from one site to another just merely browsing without any purpose for the past thirty or so minutes.

Honestly, I feel like writing a novel. But then I thought, I’ve always wanted to do it to no success. So I suddenly want to try writing poems. But nah, I’ve no freggin’ idea how to. Well, I’ve attempted before and in fact, there are those that have been posted here that amaze me because I couldn’t seem to remember where did I get all those emotions that seemed to have been poured without caution.

I’ve tried it before, signing up at NaNoWriMo and eventually forgot both my username and password which I don’t feel like retrieving anymore. I’ve tried writing a novel in 2014 and voila, it didn’t even reach twenty thousand words. In fact, I have already lost the draft. I’ve stopped in the middle of a scene for some reasons. I have lots of excuses that I couldn’t find the courage to drop off. For example: my grammar is terrible; I don’t have the writing tools handy; I get physically tired from writing just as when my thoughts are overflowing; and the list goes on.

I would create the characters and scenes in my head. The beginning, the cliffhangers and the ending. And oh, God knows how many times I’ve wanted to sit down and write them down as my head goes on. But then, nothing. Nothing will happen. And in the end, I’d feel disappointed. I’ll get frustrated and hopeless. Becoming a writer will be the most impossible dream for me. But why am I still so desperate to write despite of myself? Probably because writing is my only escape from I don’t know… something. And I’ve found solace in blogging. It helped me make myself more open to people. It’s not just the cliche response “childhood dream, besh” I’d say too many times. As you may not know, I am not just an ordinary ambivert (with a tendency of being an introvert). The thing is, writing keeps me sane- literally. Which is why I always keep a journal with me. In the past two years though, both blogging and journaling had been more of a responsibility than a leisure which often lead to more vexation. I’ve read lots of books, blogs, magazine and anything readable from road signs to jeepney names, etc. I’ve written down writing prompts and ideas but most of the days I end up staring at them like they’re aliens that landed in my notebook.

Often times, I know how to start but too often I don’t know how to end. Just like this one. A range of emotion flushed over me while I stare at my computer screen but then as I write along pressing the keys with rage I’ll stop, backread and then ask myself : “am I making any sense?” A lot of writers have said “write now, proofread later” but that’s not the case for me. I couldn’t help myself from stopping and then going back to the previous paragraphs just to be sure I’m still in the topic and then BAM! I’ll lost it. And I’ll end my post with something I just came up with just before I hit the Publish button.

Sometimes I wanted to blame my parents for not showing me some support when they’d pick up my “clutter” and Mama burning the papers telling me I’m wasting paper over nothing. That I should focus on my studies than scribbling nonsense on my notebooks. But who am I kidding? In the end, it was my cowardice that put me in this frustrating situation. I didn’t have the courage to stand tall and tell them what I really want to be when I grow up. I didn’t have the balls to be stubborn and say NO to their demands. I went with the flow like a dead fish. Ahh, yeah it normally gets this way whenever I talk about “writing” or being a “writer”. And unless I’d do anything about it, I’ll just be the same dead fish in the water.

And so, I’ll leave you again with this… the dot dot dot.