My day goes smooth and slow only when I do things that I like with complete freedom; when I’m alone with my thoughts, relaxed and musing in a little bubble of my own, seconds go by at the walking pace of a turtle, as everything around slows down for me to remain in this daydreaming moment. I like to do things that require full concentration, presence, and inspiration all alone, and this, in a calm space, without being disturbed by thought intrusions. And that’s why I love to write, simply because I have complete freedom over the story and poem, I can control where this is all going, I have the choice of words and sentence building, there’s no one around to limit my thoughts and imagination… I’m a free bird flying in any sky, at any time of the day, landing on branches, or at any place that I want, and eating whatever food I find on my way.
A good and genuine piece of writing or art that’s conceived by one person takes a lot of time, and the readers and audience can really see and decipher, even if it’s unconsciously, all of the meticulous small details that make such type of work precious and unique, to the point of collecting them as a memorabilia; but what on the other hand they don’t see is of course the length of time a writer or artist took to create the work, but also, as what I’ve myself experienced, of the time that seems to remain constant during the whole time one creates a piece, and where, it’s only after that I’ve completed the work that I notice the time that it took me to finish the whole thing… strange, but I think that one who is doing art for the sake of art can’t escape the Planck timescale.
When I’m writing there’s a lot of things that’s going on in my head — hours of reflections and thoughts go in that process; and if one often does any type of mental exercises to enhance creativity, imagination, and inspiration, just like I do, then things can get a little bit weirder while working on an artistic piece, where one hour can seem like an eternity, for so much has been understood and pieced together during the process of creating. Perhaps I’m wrong, and I don’t know exactly if what I’m writing about here seems too out-of-the-frame, but that’s how I personally experience the whole thing from my viewing angle; and I try to explain my truth as easy as possible… meditation, contemplation, mindfulness, awareness, transcendental, being present in the moment, prayers, and all other mental exercises are no hocus-pocus… they really work if you know what you are doing, as well as the steps and processes.
From time to time, out of curiosity and boredom and corroboration, I like to go on the occult side of YouTube to know what destiny has in its suitcase for me, and though I never act upon these readings… the other day, when the cartomancer read about the anger, I felt that the message was for me, thus broke down crying, because I never knew that I was hurting that much.
When in the beginning I didn’t understand what I was doing, where I was going, and when I didn’t understand anything about the creative process, I was frustrated, demoralised, depressed and desperate, paranoid, alienated (yes, I was really crazy😜, I admit it here), hurting like hell inside, angry because I was fooled by online scams, and lost my first laptop to viruses or worms… and instead of being patient, and practice and learn the steps and process of creative writing, which I was starting from scratch, I was rushing headlong into the writing business without any prior knowledge of the craft, meaning, that I was already failing, meaning, that I was bound to make a fool of myself, meaning, that I would have stayed there in the place where I was, simply because I couldn’t clearly see, blinded by the anger that had accumulated inside of me because of the personal problems that I was facing… I was so angry and frustrated because I wasn’t able to break away from it all through having a job that paid well, a job in which I would be able to immerse myself into so as to forget it all… perhaps writing, that which I can control, there where I feel free.
I had been self-sabotaging my writing business by being impatient and skipping steps, while being a drama-queen. When I was writing Darcocyte and poems, it seemed to me that movies, songs, and other books of the same genre and story that I wrote were popping up everywhere, and were having their time of glory; and here I was, still stuck with learning writing and editing well. I was so frustrated, anxious that if I published my books I would be accused of plagiarism or of being unauthentic. But then that sagacious light hit me in the eyes, and I understood.
I hate ketchup; I’m disgusted by the smell of raw eggs; I fear of falling on a descending escalator, thus never take one.
Writing for me is like going through a pipeline, where I’m learning and practicing, digging, forking, and mining for ideas along the way, while time and life goes by normally outside.
Now that I understand a little bit more, and edit better than I did before, while having practiced my writing skills a lot, and learned patience, a type of harmonious synchronicity is starting to emerge from this point in time.
Writing has helped me a lot. It has helped me to learn so many things that will surely help me in my life. And if ever I don’t make it in the creative writing business, I’ll gently recede away from this shore, knowingly that I’ve gained so much more from this experience… I’m ready to restart again elsewhere.