“A writer is someone who spends years patiently trying to discover the second being inside him, and the world that makes him who he is: when I speak of writing, what comes first to mind is not a novel, a poem or literary tradition, it is a person who shuts himself up in a room, sits down at a table, and alone, turns inward; amid its shadows, he builds a new world with words.”
How does that appeal to you? I can’t just deny those facts but agree to it. Something which all writers wants to convey! Writers are not just usual people. They are very different from others that you will come across in your daily life. Solitary confinement that they force upon themselves, keeping away from people, partying and attending social gatherings; a writer molds himself to a distinct entity. People call them introverts and anti-social. But that’s ignorance.
Personally speaking, I wasn’t gifted with the eloquence to write as I do now. The fine choice of words, the imaginary building up of a character, his or her pain, societal repugnance etc. doesn’t come along that easily. Framing oneself in the beginning stages and then years in solitude makes him vomit words which remained indigestible in his gut.
Likewise I’m proud to say that I was never a product of the society. I stayed away from everything since years and that what makes you to slip into the pit of estranged loneliness, brings forth the pain, dilemma and questions inside you. It’s the same for all. Writing wasn’t my cup of tea exactly but now it is! As of now, I’m slipping away into poetry. Poetry never occurs to me. If it did, it was once in a blue moon. I admired the proliferation of poets and the way they portrayed their ideas. But the perfect medium to spit out your emotions is poetry itself I believe.
I’m conceiving ideas and giving birth to poems! Poems that has depth and only appeals to people who can plant them in their intellect and construe their meaning. Ending my words for the thought marking the 50th blog entry for Noesis of Imagination.