It’s been a long time since we last spoke and for your information, I’ve found some counseling and am now properly medicated. I’ve decided to create a new blog dedicated to my writing, so if you enjoyed any of what I’ve written then please check me out at www.theunknownpenmonkey.wordpress.com
If I ever got a typewriter, it would be sky-blue. The keys would be white or, even better, yellow. On the left side would be an inscription in long, loopy cursive writing that would say:
This machine surrounds hatred, and forces itself to surrender.
I would put it in a plain room with only a chair and a small desk inside. No posters, no bookshelf and no open window. It would be a sanctuary dedicated to my craft, free of distractions except an unending supply of milk tea and Oreo cookies.
Bludgeoning the keys like they owe me 5 rand, I would dedicate myself for at least 5000 words a day, more if I could get away from the wife and kids long enough.
If I had a typewriter, I would already be successful. Not because it would give me success but because I would have enough time to bang away at the keys for 8 hours or more.
And when the day finally came that I could no longer write anything, either through sever arthritis or old age, probably both, I would sit back and wait for the end. Just me and my sky-blue typewriter.
Warning!!! Major Downer!!
It’s been a while.
I don’t have any excuses to give you, guys. When I started writing again, It took me little over a week to get back into the swing of writing my first novel. Things haven’t gone so well.
My writing has come to a complete halt.
I took a look back at what I”d already done and it had me cringing with every second sentence. The P.O.V was terrible, the chapters were too short, the plot was weak and the characterization almost made me cry. I am not the writer I thought I was.
So I stopped. I’ve been so scared that I haven’t gone near a word processor for the entire summer.
Now I don’t know what to do. I feel like I should try again but…
It feels like I’ll just fail. Just like I’m failing here. Writing this post instead of pursuing my dreams. Maybe I should just quit. Save us both the trouble.
On the upside though, I think I understand my characters better. After all, they are each a part of me.
I love you very much and I hope to talk to you soon.
My novel’s falling behind since I decided to write it out longhand, my writing dreams are getting further away and I’m falling back into my old ways. Better procrastinate by talking to you guys!!
I had 25000 words down before all my work was wiped and I recently got it back but I decided to started again. Looking at the old work, I realized I am a much better writer than back then. My prose, details, characterization and focus have improved this past year and now, with the knowledge that there is a publisher who will buy my book if it’s good enough, my dreams of being a writer are closer than ever.
Unfortunately, the art has slowed down. I found that writing longhand helped me focus more on the story but it takes me a long time to get it all down. Longhand has made everything slow down, I usually can’t get two thousand words down on paper so I try to focus on the meat of the story and any detail I can think of will be added later while typing. I guess I’m just used to using notebooks considering I started writing in high school and notebooks were always readily available.
Oh, another little tidbit about my writing habit that I discovered is that I can’t write in silence. In the classroom, people were always talking, chattering, shouting at the top of their lungs and throwing crumpled up papers around till the teacher lost her shit and bawled at them with the thundering command of a wrathful goddess. It was in those few moments of utter chaos while the teacher was away that I could steal a second or two to write something that wasn’t on the chalkboard. So I discovered something relative to that same chaos that I could use. The answer, ASMR whispering.
Basically, its people, generally pretty ladies with pleasant voices, whispering into your ears. They can be doing role play, or drawing, or silent singing, or meditation; anything that’s quiet and makes you relaxed. Now I know it sounds kind of creepy listening to people whispering to you through head phones but for me, there’s something about having someone quietly coerce you to sleep at night that just does it for me. Of course channels like this are fairly new and don’t have a lot of followers yet but I believe that whispering has some appeal to everyone.
The main reason, besides adding ambiance, is that it sends chills down my spine for some reason I don’t quite understand. It’s like a shot of adrenaline injected into my brain and sent down your back. Like those tense moments in old horror movies.
On that note, goodnight everybody. I love you very much, and I’ll talk to you soon.
P.S – Can someone donate me a Moleskine notebook?
I think of how you sit in a new place for the first time, in a new house, at a friend’s or family’s, and how uncomfortable it can be. Like the floor underneath us will give way if we even flinch. Then we leave and comeback, and slowly the feeling withers away and is replaced by something else. And finally, when we’ve come back enough, we are relaxed and open.
I think that feeling of insecurity was the reason I spent so much time in these four walls. This is my bubble, my sanctuary, and more than anything, my excuse from the world outside.
But now, towards the end of the first year, with the therapy and the self reflection, I feel myself beginning to heal. I think my novel has helped me deal with it and this blog, you guys and your likes and your comments and your funny stories helped me too.
It wasn’t easy. My convalescence took time.
Trust is like that. If it’s broken once, then it feels like trusting again would be a fool’s mistake. Fool me twice, as they say. One hurt can make you think about other hurts that haven’t happened yet and you begin to live that way, wondering when the floor is going to cave in under your feet.
But eventually we all tip toe out of our shells, curious about the unknown
That only happens when we stop worrying about the small imperfections in ourselves and in others, which only happens when we learn to let go of the hurt. It isn’t easy , and it isn’t simple. But it is worth it.
So breathe in, wiggle into that previously unknown chair and breathe out. You can do this. I believe in you.
Death is always unexpected.
My question is, why?
We all know we’re going to die one day. There’s if, ands or buts about it. Yet, when when someone close to us dies, we never expect it.
This post isn’t just a random thought. Last night, my father’s best friend’s son was killed. He went outside his house and was shot four times, execution style. He was 24 years old with a wife and baby girl.
Just yesterday afternoon, his father came over and had a drink with my dad. He later went home and didn’t come back. I was unfortunately asleep by the time my parents got the call. This morning my mother and I had a discussion about what happened. She told me that his family had to be sedated, his sister, one of my childhood friends, had to write her final exams today.
It got me thinking. About the fragility of life, about how easily our candles can be snuffed out by hate or fear and about how it affects the people we care about most. I got to two main ideas:
- Life is an uncertainty. It’s not something that can be controlled or planned or quantified. This makes it precious. You have no idea what will happen tomorrow or the day after that, so don’t leave important things for tomorrow. Buy your wife that flower, give your mother a call, spend more time with your children, do all the things you should do today and leave everything that you can die knowing you left unfinished, for tomorrow.
- Hatred and anger only leads to pain. Which, in turn, leads to more hatred and anger. He was shot 4 times through the back of the head. This was pain and hatred given a physical and deadly form and it’s just bred more pain and anger. So instead of answering violence with violence or spitting vitriol against vitriol, just walk away. Don’t bring more negativity into this world.
In the end, the fact’s remain the same. A young man is dead and four men have become murderers, but we can take something from the tragedy. We can take the lesson that life is finite and thus, more precious and that hatred breeds more hatred. We can pray for his soul and hope that wherever he may be that he finds happiness and sanctuary.
Love, Peace, Empathy.
I love you all, and I’ll talk to you soon.
I’m in NaNoWriMo!!