just thinking... · reading

So you think you can write?

Porridge and coffee and my blog. Writing.

Oh, how I wish there was a challenge like that! Not necessarily a TV show but some kind of contest for creative writing.

You see, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. That’s the only thing in the world that might be my purpose in life (in case there is any at all).

But you cannot call yourself a writer unless you have published something. Which I have but to my mind it has to be a book. A book that is sold in a book store. That has been printed and launched and promoted…

I’m kidding, I don’t need all that. My book would be so good that everyone would want to buy it. Someone would discover it by chance and he or she will tell the others. The word will spread and before you know it my book will be a total hit. It will have moved the souls of millions of readers, translated into at least forty langauges (forty seems to be the norm).

In one version of my dream I will publish the book under a writer’s name. No one will no it’s me. The main reason for that being that it seems impossible to me to share my thoughts (even fictional) with people. I’m afraid of what everyone will think of me. Especially my family and friends. Pathetic? Yes.

I know that it shouldn’t stand in the way of a true writer but let’s face it – I am not one. (Yet? Let’s keep on hoping.)

The second version of my dream of being published would include a book presentation. I even know what I will be wearing! I always have. It’s blue skinny jeans and a white top. Boring, I know, but that’s how it has to be. I don’t need to stand out, ‘cause my book will speak for itself… A smiley. A wink? (I’m never sure how to use these. I swear, one of these days we will be back in the pre-historic days using pictures instead of letters and words. You call that a progress?)

On with the book presentation… I would like to be bearfoot as I never find shoes to go with my outfit. I mean it – I’m size 41 (8 in UK, 10 in US if you wondered) and I have wide feet. So I’d love to wear no shoes if the floor is warm enough. Red toenails are a must in this case. A good pedicure, too. Obvious.

I have blond hair which might make me less believable but I’m too old to dye it darker (Darker hair makes you look older. Especially if you have a fair (grey) complexion like I do. My hair is long (I’d say medium long but they always charge me for extra long at the hairdresser’s which I don’t consider fair.) so I will wear it as it is.

There will not be a big crowd at the launch. It’s more of an intimate gathering of people. There will be mild light and we’ll be sitting on pillows on the floor. There will be lots of good coffee, that’s for sure.

See, I have the whole thing planned out (Actually I didn’t plan it, I’ve just always had this vision of how it will be.) but I haven’t got the faintest idea about what’s the book is going to be about! I know that it has to have a beautiful cover, a compelling first line and maybe even illustrations. (When do books stop having illustrations? At what age group? Why? It’s weird that children’s books have got pictures and adults’ don’t as children have far more imagination that grown ups! We are the ones who would really need the visual aids.)

And that’s why I am not a writer. I don’t have a book. I have started some a couple of times but they were awful. Depressing, boring. And I just couldn’t express what I wanted to say. It was nothing like I had imagined. I don’t even know why. I’ve always thought that it just isn’t the right time yet. That one day the book will just come to me. The idea, the words… everything in one go.

But recently I’ve started having doubts about it. My mind is flying but when I try to write it down it becomes a mess. It’s like I want to say too much at a time when I actually believe in less is more.

I wish there was a device that would just catch my thoughts and write them down instead of me. No… I wouldn’t like that either. Everyone would write a book then and nobody would read them.

Sometimes I wonder if there are enough people to read books any more? Maybe I’m too late with all the writing thing. How many people are there who read just for the sake of it. Not just the plot but for the beauty of words. I swear I sometimes feel like I can taste the words. If I read a beautiful expression or even just a wonderful word. It’s such a pleasure to be immersed in a book. To enjoy the flow of words, to admire how wonderfully a person can write.

How many people still want to enjoy that? There’s so much written stuff around (mainly on the internet of course) that we just waste our interest on all those meaningless writings and are too overwhelmed to start enjoying a beautifully written piece. It’s just plain sad and I am also one to blame. I browse the internet and even if I find an article that is longer than ten sentences and seems to convey more than mere news I find that I just cannot concentrate! I’m ashamed of that.

I miss the old days when I was a child and spent the summers in the country. We only had a few old books and newspapers there and I would read all of them. Just for the sake of reading. And even if it was boring I think that gave me so much more exactly because of that. The more boring the reading the more it makes your own imagination go wild. I do believe that boredom is very important in life. Being bored makes us most creative and you can’t really enjoy anything in life unless you have been utterly bored from time to time. Being bored means being relaxed and that’s when the best ideas come.

Since those childhood days I have always wanted to write. To create that same magic with words that I have enjoyed so much while reading. To express myself. The feeling that my thoughts will just kill me if I don’t get them out in writing. And by killing thoughts I don’t mean depressing thoughts! I just get this urge to write.

So why don’t I? Why don’t I just write? I don’t know. The simple answer could be that I’m too lazy. Writing is a lonely job. Somehow it always comes down to “Why am I doing this?” Writing for me is like talking to someone. I need to have another end to this. A reader. Someone to talk to.

Another good reason to write for me is an incentive. A contest, a prize, being paid. Ridiculous? Maybe. But I write so much better when I know that there is a definite reason for me to write. In plain words that “I get something for my writing”. I need a push for writing.

And as for publishing then modern possibilities do come handy, of course. I have my blog and I can publish whatever I want. It’s still like magic to me. If someone would only read it, too.

So do I think I can write? You tell me!


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