Have you ever asked yourself why is it that people write? Why is it that they feel the urge to put on paper thoughts, emotions, events… why do they have to write it all down?
Perhaps they do so because they don’t want to forget. Or maybe because they write differently from what they think, and only in writing do they find the freedom they so desperately need.
Or they write because they simply want to move on.
When something that happened to you turn into words, it’s easier to forget that it even happened. Pain gets altered into something else, into a story that might bring comfort to another human being.
Suffering becomes a message, one that will travel down the sinuous river of time until it reaches the right person at the right time.
I’ve been writing for more than 10 years now. And I wrote for all the reasons that you can possibly think. I wrote because I was alone. I tried to make loneliness mean something by creating stories. And it made my loneliness much more bearable. I could confront my true self, I could regain just enough help to wake up the following morning with the desire to fight.
Writing is like fighting a different kind of battle. Words can heal people, and they can also break them. They can shatter dreams, create delicate illusions, offer an ideal to those who badly need it.
I spent two years writing because there was nothing else for me to do. I spent those years hiding from the world. I was poor, sick, and alone. I was afraid.
I was a broken man. I couldn’t stare people in the eyes, I couldn’t really tell them how I felt.
But every night I would write. And I was free, and I was careless, and I was not alone.
I could dance, I could sing, I could paint. In my stories, I could do anything that I wished to do. Even though I was afraid of the world outside my window, the one inside my head became a place where extraordinary things could happen.
And this gives you hope. Art gives you hope.
When you write, nothing else really matters. If you’re a real artist, it shouldn’t matter. Not what’s going to happen to your work of art after you finish it, not even what’s going to happen to you after that.
The job of a creator is a lonely job indeed, because by creating something out of nothing, you’re denying your own existence. You shift your perspective so much that you focus only on what you’re doing. You’re so busy building a new world that the real one becomes less than an echo inside your head. Your own voice, your own soul seem to dissolve into this brave new world you’re creating.
I know of no greater sacrifice than that of spending even a second to become someone else. Or something else.
Writing healed me. All the stories I wrote gave me confidence. All the people that have read my stories, that were so kind as to tell me that my words meant something… that gave me courage.
Writing teaches you that you only need courage to create the world you want. You want it, and you do it. A blank page is a world of endless possibilities, all of which are under your control.
The saddest illusion of our times is that we alone are in control of our destinies. Not true. A million other factors control our destinies. Accidents, coincidences, and other people. Things we take for granted or things we lost but never regained.
Have you ever loved someone who didn’t love you back?
That’s what I’m talking about.
You make life happen, but life also makes you happen. It’s all a complex mechanism, and we can never survive all by ourselves. It all works together, somehow…
But when you write, that’s when you don’t need someone else. When you write, your audience, your target audience, the people you want to influence, all that’s just nonsense. Because when you write, and if you do it right, you can’t think of anything else but the world you’re creating.
There’s no time, no energy, to think of anything else.
You become a creator.