Wattmag Issue #12

GUEST POST: The Never-Ending Journey (and Pitstops) of an Author

I think I'm turning into an adult.

You know how as a kid adults were the boring ones who always followed the rules, did everything right and cleaned up our messes? We were the adventurous ones, the kids with life-threatening problems (mostly involving glitter or candy, for me). We were the ones who always told ourselves we'll never be like that and do those things when we grow up.

But guess what? Life happens. Suddenly we're taller than the table, we really understand everything read and our perspective on life changes. Suddenly we find ourselves doing the exact same things that were done to us, to other young kids miserable enough to be under our care.

What does all this have to do with writing? You must be asking yourself that question right about now, because this all is starting to sound like a ninety-year-old lady ranting about her lost childhood. There is a point to this all, trust me, I'm just getting started.

I think the same thing happens to us with literature.

We grow up listening to, reading and thinking of stories. When you grow older, the stories get more complex, but our mind which has hopefully grown with us, can handle it.
I think somewhere along the way, people device in two; those who say: "great story. Loved it. I'll recommend it to my friend", then they turn off their night lamp and fall into a peaceful sleep.
The other group of people, whether they're aware of it or not, can't simply be in awe of the world of stories around them, they can't put the thoughts away when the epilogue is over. Oh, no. They want to be a part of this amazing world. And just any part, they want to be its creatures.

And thus begins a long and endless journey into the realm of art. Some start at a younger age; a tweener scribbling with sparkly pens in a notebook clearly marked 'classified', other get tapped on the shoulder by teenhood, offering them a college-ruled canvas. Old and maturing age catches the late bloomers, still figuring things out.

Now the real hard work starts. Some of them don't feel it at first, and the lucky ones never do. I'm talking about the burden of opinions, the inflexibility of time and the lack of inspiration. Or ideas. Or all of the above.

It's good to take a break, get away from Iife for a while. But the danger of going away is how hard it is to come back.

That's a little bit where I'm at with my writing right now, and I know this may seem selfish, going on and on about myself, but if anyone else in this situation gets a little push in the right direction from what I'm about to say (okaaaay, write) next, all this typing was worth it.

Just hold on to the memory of the first time you knew this was what you want to do. The time you put down a book and thought: "man, I wish one day I could write like this."
The only way to ever get there, or even anywhere close, is by keeping up the work. Writing every day, remembering what about it made you fall in love with it and why it's worth going on.

And if it doesn't bring you joy? There's a whole book about that too.