Do you know that stage in life, where you’re neither here nor there, and nothing is set in stone? I’m right there now, and when life is unpredictable putty jigsaw in your hands, it’s probably wiser to not talk it about it too much, as it might affect how the pieces fall.
That’s why I’ve been pretty absent here.
But I will start blogging again soon. I’ve not been writing for oh so very long, but after literarily spewing privately, I’ve suddenly found the dams broken.
Isn’t it funny how after a dry and barren spell of wordlessness, after the first words are cast, a deluge starts flowing?
Words and sentences swim around in my head, reminding me that I am by trade a wordsmith. Haunting me. Tormenting me. Depriving me of sleep.
I love how words play on each other and sentences form, making meaning out of nothing. The English language is much unlike the Chinese one, so unsuccinct and unable to stand alone. But if put together the right way, is pure poetry and music to the ear.
I was told before, in my creative writing class, that I was a poet, not a storyteller. I think that was the death of my fiction writing. I’ve tried to write again over the years, but nothing comes out. Till today, I abhor the need to grade one’s art. Journalistic writing, writing as a craft, is one thing. But writing as an art is another.
But maybe, because I am a poet that no longer rhymes, I might still be able to pull sentences out of my arse that might move the everyday man.
This I hope.
Screw creative writing classes.
Writing has always been self-indulgent. I should probably learn to indulge myself once in a while, instead of being ever so cautious.
However, I started this blog with an aim to NOT be self indulgent in my writing. That is still best left for private journalling. But, this blog is my anvil, and life is my hammer. And only by using it can I hone my pen (or keyboard) into a worthy blade.
