I have a number of drafts saved in my blog, most of them under construction of course. I do not know what's with the writing mania that's gotten into my blood lately. It just seems like every single view that went pass my eyes or merely a simple conversation will triggered some sort of mini typewriter in my brain where I would start citing words and sentences silently. Hoping that they would remain long enough in my brain for me to jot it down later.
I once read somewhere that writers are born more than they're trained. How true is this.? Honestly, I do not care. Or perhaps, I'm not someone who's qualify enough to care.? I write because I like to and because I want to. There's no one that requires your explanation nor reports on why you write so much especially when your writings clearly aren't categorized as the work of a writer or even potential-to-be-writer. In other words, rubbish.? Nevermind.
I do not and never addressed or think of myself as a wannabe writer or someone who will never make it because her writing is so wayyyyyyyyyyy behind of what's labeled as appropriate or perhaps readable material.
When I started to write a lot, I knew perfectly well that I write completely and solely for me myself. I guess that simply makes it much easier and comfortable to write and rant whatever you desire. Regardless, of course there are the hopes of someone who would appreciate your work, or perhaps even like it. But on top of it, as long as I'm free to write what and when I want to, I don't see why I shouldn't. Nor why should I give a damn when what I wrote happens to be beyond the acceptable or ingestible level. How surprising.
I remember my first attempt to write a story when I was little. Can't remember how old I was, perhaps 8 or 9 I guess. But I do remember getting weird gazes from my parents when they were enquiring what was I doing sitting at my study desk for so long which I rarely do. The only thing I did remember about what I wrote what was my WANT was written as ONE. Sounds funny now, but thinking back, its pretty predictable as those two words clearly has a similar pronunciation where WANT is usually pronounced without the T sound. (Okay, laugh if you want to but I'm not ashamed of my confusion between these two words that's used every second and no, I'm not defending the kiddo me. Haha.)
Assuming that my story was as cheesy as possible, it was pretty obvious that it's barely near to be called a successful attempt. Actually, I think I'm perfectly positive that even my young mind doesn't register my story to be well, even readable to the kid that I was. After all, that was the only story-writing stunt I pulled or remember. Perhaps, it was the only one, excluding the rest of the homework.
Sometimes, I do wonder why I'm writing so much more than I usually do. But, I've learn not to ask WHY all the time where most of the time it's unproductive, unnecessary and even sometimes inappropriate. I'm not a quiet person in reality, only to some strangers or people that I couldn't bother to care less because of their impossible characters. In fact I'm pretty much of a talker if given at least an okay conversationalist. But then, I find myself hardly talking about what I write here at all. Deviation from the real world.?
Perhaps I should start keeping a private personal journal. This blog is extremely personal to me, but it isn't private for anyone with an internet access can run into your blog with a simple click. If you're thinking who do you think I am and who would actually want to dig up the entire infinite world wide web just to read my lousy brainless writings.? You're wrong. Even though there's hardly any random person who would come across your blog unless you're in the top list of the bloggers in the blogosphere world, you would never know who would come across this page when the unfaithful day decides to make its unwelcome and previously-thought-unanticipated entrance. POOF, your blog appears.
I had ideas of starting various kind of journals. Diary, movie journals, food journals, dating diary, favourite quotes journal and even prayers diary. Some of them really did existed as I have a thing about nice journals that when I saw one and it would seems like they're calling for me helplessly to rescue them from the dull and boring display shelf and sometimes, I do. That's why I have a small collection of nice notebooks. And I don't see why I shouldn't make use of them, even though none of them lasted very long.
I'm seriously trying harder to prolonged their life.