alone, never lonely
like a cliche, the phrase “writing is such a lonely journey” no longer appeals to me. just like a cliche, hearing it over and over again loses their surprise element and eventually their meanings. but i will say that it (writing) is a journey meant to be done alone, just as you should with your thoughts and ideas. like how you would unpack your baggage after every trip.
writing felt like that, at least for me. it was to be comfortable and alone with my thoughts. unload and organise them and see where it leads me, either to the roots or to the parts where it rots.
like an artist against a blank canvas, you stood against a daunting blank screen. a brush in hand or fingers on keyboard ready. the ever blinking insertion point in the top-left corner of the page. ticks like metronome.
but silence is all you hear, when you are ready to pin down the thought. to catch its tail. you sat still and held your breath, because you start to worry. you feel anxiety creeps in, waiting for you to give in, to take control.
another deep breath to clear the distractions. to silence the noise. to hear the child within. to seek for the voice within. no matter how faint or distant it may be.
it’s no easy feat and you know it. magic’s not here. talent or hard work, i guess only time will tell.
owning the power and weight of each word, you pen. word by word, you write. weaved into sentences, then into something that fills page after page. the rough draft. better than the outline but something tells you it’s not good enough.
you have no time to worry about it (yet) because words kept coming like how water flows out from a faucet. your hands struggle to keep up with the speed of your thoughts. your writing went from visible words to strokes and codes only you’d understand. it was like a secret language only you’d know.
then, came editing. because you have to figure out your intention and rewrite depending on the perspective. you want to put yourself out there but not the vulnerable version of you. you wouldn’t want people to see you for who you are. you wouldn’t want people easily guess who it’s about.
so you add mysterious silhouettes and create shadows to spark curiosity. to cloud their judgement. it was a way to “make it better”. because to reveal that it all is no fun. just like the nice guys that will always be friends.
there’s more but i didn’t want to go any further. just want to leave some questions to ponder.
at the end of it all, i wonder why writers lock themselves up and walk this path. and i wonder if going through this road is worth the price.
and questions like; does writing liberate you from all the burdens you carry? does it ease the journey and made it less lonely knowing that you’re putting your work out there? is this you trying to prove your existence during your short stay here?
and ultimately, who are you actually writing for?
or should i ask “why do you write”?
at the end of it all, i wonder if writing is a journey that all of us embarks on our own, alone but somehow feel less lonely.
– the difference between alone and lonely
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