Over the last year I have earned a lot about the art of writing itself; not only the act of putting words on a page, but the thought process, the state of mind one must be in in order to write well. I do not speak of writing a piece such as this (although I am not technically in my writing “mood” as of now, therefore this piece will suffer somewhat as a result), but of writing prose, of crafting a world of one’s own creation. The fingers – whether they hold a pen, or dance on a keyboard – act as a brush, bringing to life the imagination. The talent craved by all who wish to excel in this field is that of transposing the imagined aspect onto the imaginations of others, so that in turn through discussion and debate, the original idea which existed in one person’s mind is given wings and allowed to soar; growing to fruition amongst the less imaginative.
That is what I crave; creation. I have the ability, I have the intelligence, I have the imagination – but I repress them all. Why, I cannot say. Some call it writer’s block; I call it incompetence. I have allowed a wall to form inside my head, surrounding my innermost inspiration and intellect, and am afraid to allow it to burst free. Perhaps that would be too much. Maybe it would suffice to chip away at the wall, allowing a little light to shine forth, before chipping away elsewhere, combining two separate entities into one? As of now, I do not know. What I do know, is that I possess all of the tools necessary to create a world, to create life within this world, and to allow that life to flourish and expand on paper. What I lack is the ability to truly accept that I have these amazing talents, and to use them for the benefit of others. Once I get over this obstacle, I will persevere. Until then, I am trapped in writing these overblown, pointless brainstorms.