“History will be kind to me for I intend to write it.” ― Winston S. Churchill
For those of you who don’t know much about me: my name is Cristian Mihai, I am 27 years old, live in Constanta, Romania, and I have been writing for over fourteen years. Also, I do enjoy long walks (on the beach or not) and I have been blogging for more than six years.
But how did I become a writer? How did I decide to be one? What steps did I take? What happened along the way? Why didn’t I quit? What made me keep on keeping on when all hope seemed to be lost? Continue reading “The Story of a Writer”
I’m a writer. I spent over fourteen years telling myself this. Reading at least a book a week since I was fourteen, spending hours daily punching those damn keys, hoping to be rewarded by the muse with something that someone else can call beautiful.
And, yes, from time to time I did doubt it. I still do.
We have wings glued to our backs, yet sometimes we forget that we can fly. We opt to crawl through life instead.
But the truth is that we’re all writers. In one way or another. We wouldn’t exist otherwise. You see, we have language, so we can speak. We can speak, so we can tell a story. We can tell a story, so we can write.
It’s really that simple.
People have wanted stories since they were painting them inside their caves. This desire is what’s kept The Illiad and The Odyssey alive for so long. And it isn’t just belief in God that keeps the Bible breathing.
It’s the stories.
If we didn’t need stories, the world would be perfect. Or empty.
To paraphrase Balzac, solitude is fine but you need someone to tell that solitude is fine. Life is only as beautiful as the stories that define it.
You’re alive, you have a story to tell. A story to write.
So yeah… you’re alive, so you’re a writer.
Five years. Five years of daily blogging. Five years since I decided to never give up, no matter what. To keep writing, to keep blogging, to just keep at it for as long as it took.
And what a ride it has been. Around the world, indeed. 200 or so countries. Lots and lots of people, lots and lots of stories…Continue reading “What I Learned in Five Years of Blogging”
They say the only ones who are awake late at night are the lonely and the loved. The former find it hard to fall asleep when all they have to do is dream with open eyes about their beloved. It’s almost a compulsion.
But what about the lonely? All the artists, the dreamers; the ones who hold tight to a reality they don’t understand and want to explain?Continue reading “New release: 2:22 AM”
There’s a part of me that believes art to be a primordial aspect of the human condition. Art inspires, art is a way of achieving greatness, of building a better world. Art turns strangers into friends. Without art, without artists, we wouldn’t be ourselves anymore.
Because I feel that within the confines of any artistic form of expression, we allow ourselves to wear a mask. The artist hides behind words or paints or brushes. And he feels safe. He can be anyone he wants to be. His freedom is limitless. And he plays this bizarre game of hide and seek with the rest of the world, constantly changing the rules, until he decides – maybe on a mere subconscious level – to be himself, thinking that people will never find out.Continue reading “I am An Artist Because…”