Ok. I have decided to blog about my journey on embracing my
writing and becoming a writer. So many times I have been afraid to pick up my
pen or touch type my keys, as I’ve just been afraid to ‘let go’. I’ve seen
others who have taken the leap of faith into their creativity, and I feel that
I am just sitting on the side kerb, watching the traffic of my creativity speed
past me. Why do I feel so frustrated? Why am I procrastinating and giving up my
dreams? Why am I fearing this particular journey? Why do I want to run away
from the words that I have been forming and fermenting in my imagination like a ripe
mango, waiting to burst, with all the flavour and juices, but still continually
beat myself up and tell myself that I cannot do it? What is my creative block
that is stopping me?
Only I myself can answer all of my angst ridden questions. It seems to me that I am self – sabotaging my words,
my creativity. I am taking my words hostage
and refusing to open up the recess of my mind and just… write. I have it all planned;
I’ve written a few chapters, and I know how this novel will eventually pan out
to be, but yet, I have all of these frustrations and fears of becoming a
writer. Maybe this small voice that keeps on echoing in my head, like bad audio
feedback, is telling me that I need to stop seeking this pasture of creativity.
But see, I have always surrounded myself with words.
Ever since I was small and was able to read books
independently, I wanted to write. I wanted to become a journalist, but my mama
just looked at me; her eyes just gave me THAT LOOK, and I knew that this was
never going to happen in my lifetime. I thought that I had committed a cardinal
sin – in fact I had. She either wanted me to become an accountant – which was
never going to happen, as I have dyslexia when it comes to figures. I think it's
because when dealing with numbers, statistics and everything arithmetical, you
are using your left hand side of the brain. I always was in tune with my right
side, so this was just a fantasy for my mama. If I wasn’t going to be an
accountant, she wanted me to become a doctor. Well, that realisation for me was
never going to happen, as I remember when I was young I kept on having repetitive
nosebleeds. The sight of blood to my young eyes scared me beyond beyond! My
mama only wanted me to fulfill her dreams so she could brag about my
professional status. It wasn’t that I was incapable of doing these particular
careers, I just was not interested. So, I rebelled.
I used to write in secret. In my diary – there were no blogs
when I was younger, as the information age was just a far away star in the
constellation, and I was a young girl just wishing on a star. I wanted to see my words take print and make sense to
other girls, who looked like me, who spoke like me and was possibly going
through the same growing pains that I was going through. I wanted my writing to
be a filter for my life.
Now, I have come to the stage that I will write. I have my
writing wings on and I am ready to fly to the next level; to take my impending
novel and carve out my own literal landscape. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t
sell; although that would be the icing on the proverbial cake; or if the awards
don’t knock down my door ; although a little validation from the world of
authors would gently boost my ego; or if it gets repeatedly knocked back and rejected by publishers; that’s fine with
me, I can always self publish it and take my own control, without others dictating
to me on how my novel should read. Really, I have to write to survive. That may
seem to be a bit dramatic, but it's how I am feeling right now. I feel that
this novel that I have deep within me is ready to explode and I just need to feel the fear, push against my
frustration, expel my procrastination and just do it anyway.
So, everyday, whilst I have the time, I promise to myself
that I will at least try to dedicate two to three hours a day to my writing;
something that I am guilty of not adhering to. But I will not be beating myself
up, as LIFE sometimes takes over and so it may be impossible to do these hours.
One of the things about writing consistently, is that you
have to be disciplined. I need to be disciplined in my creativity and also
disciplined in writing this novel. I never want to be in a position in my own
life and have regrets when it comes to writing this novel. I have made too many
regrets on this wondrous journey, however, I have packed them away and placed
them in a suitcase and wheeled them away
on an eternal vacation.
For me, to be disciplined means that I will have the freedom
to write authentically, clearly, joyfully, with abundance, freedom and with
love. I see discipline in this context differently and this is something that I
have to always have in mind when I get out my pen or pound on my keystrokes to
take on the oncoming chapters in my novel.
So, yes, my fears and frustrations still present deep
within. But what I need to do is turn these negative qualities into just words,
where they will, in their own paradoxical way, keep on liberating me and where
I can finally cancel out these feelings that are stopping me from fully embracing the
real authentic me.
