Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Writers, Freaks and Pure Joy.

Writers are freaks. No, seriously. I'm a writer and I admit that I am a freak. Okay, so maybe I would not call myself a freak, but rather different, authentic. Think about it. "Normal" people, if that's the way we call people who are not writers, would watch TV, slack around on the internet surfing through new gadgets that's about to be released, play games, or even take a nap during their spare time. When they are stressed out, they would take a walk at the beach and play in the water, build sandcastles (I guess) and then went back home and eat a bunch of ice cream. They do things that is somehow "relaxing" in the eyes or many. And what do writers do? We write. 

Yes. Writer jot down hundreds of words for PURE JOY. If we're not freaks then I don't know what we are because most people would shriek at the thought of producing about 1000 words daily when to us that's everyday meal. We write for sheer satisfaction and that's the beauty of it. I write when I'm bored, angry, stressed out or even at moments when I feel like I'm at the edge of a nervous breakdown. True, sometimes writing itself can be stressful, like at times when I'm supposed to produce a 3000-5000 word essay on national development for a competition that's due in a few days and yet I've only drafted down 2000 words, and every time I opened up my draft and it popped on my screen I just stared at it for an hour or two because I have no idea what argument to write about next. At times like this I don't feel like writing on my project anymore, I feel like reading or writing a blog-post about anything that comes to mind, but these two activities are still not normal in the eyes of most people. 

But we still write, don't we? At times when the writing project I'm working on frustrates the hell out of me, I still feel like dealing with the world of words in so many different ways. Even when it's just about scribbling down lyrics that I find comforting, lyrics are still somewhat a form of poem, and there it goes again, words. We find comfort in words and that to me, is beautiful. I don't know why it is that I started thinking about all these, but yesterday after typing down the post on "The Problem with Contemporary Fiction" I felt so alive after what seems to be such a gloomy day, and I realized that I'm such a freak (in a good way, of course, because calling yourself a freak in public is not exactly the best idea there is). It's even freakier when I realized I actually liked that idea, that like other writers in the world, I too find so much comfort, fun, thrill and admiration to the craft of writing. 

No comments:

Post a Comment