I was never a very smart person. I was a constant average. At least my grades said so. I always knew I could do more, know more… but I just couldn’t be bothered.
I know I can write, or at least that’s what I’ve been telling myself lately. I know I can do whatever I set my mind to, and more often than you would think… I tend to believe that I would do whatever, better than anyone else.
All you can do, I can do better! I can do anything better than you!
I would start martial arts and think that some day the Vo-Su would come to me and say, you’re good to go for the black belt, even though I had just started.
I would start acting classes and already envision myself on the big screen, rehearsing lines with a great theater actor (yeah, because I’m one of those persons that believe that a book is better than the movie, and theater is a reenactment of a madman’s dream. So it won’t fence in your alter ego, au contrairre mes amis, it might ground it a bit but create wide wings for it to fly by).
Yeah, I’m quite the fly guy! I ain’t no shy guy, I’ll just stand by.
Watch you from the train as you pass by!
I was always good with physics, math, and history. I loved making those pesky circuits, dragging my group of no-know-it-all boys along the ride. I loved adding and subtracting, seeing numbers and learning all, my own way. I just loved how you could learn a theory and that it would never change. How it would have sufficed to understand an equation and it all makes sense.
I was always an addict of exact sciences, but I never liked chemistry. I never understood religion in school, or the need to shove it down one’s throat.
I did fall in love with literature, later in life, as I was bound to discover the wonder of imagination, and the miracle of birthing live theories about all that was alive or inanimate.
I was inspired by studying languages by not only a multi ethnic language but also by my mom, whom at a very young age made me go to a Francophile organization.
Later on, in school, I would feed my need of multiculturalism, and even later on, I would even see the first fruits of my national inherited passion.
The Fata Morgana of my life
I found writing in bleak times. It was my friend when in need, it was my job for quite a while, it taught me how to be what I am today. But I am not finished being! I still have much to learn, much to discover, much to argue about.
I combined writing with the arts of sculptures, paintings, music, and dance. I fell in love with a lost love of mine and found myself in a museum. It was the best time I ever had with writing, and I’m so doing it again! As a bottom line, for the time being, I still have a lot to learn.
I have to prepare for a greater good, for a greater me, for the greater self. I have prepared all my life for something and I think that finally, I have discovered what it is. I act like a jealous boyfriend when I see others with it. I lose it when they get my muse and I’m left empty handed. I want it back! I think it belongs to me.
You know what really grinds my gear?
At this point, you are probably wondering why I just don’t get over it and get on with it. Well, at first sight, it’s jibberish but if you really focus on it, you too will realize that it’s not all as simple as it seems. You too will find that what you really want the most, is the most difficult to achieve or even to start. In the end, it all really is about pushing boundaries so much until they almost snap and throw you off of the cliff.
My greatest addiction is writing. I always run away from it… I constantly feel that it’s not good enough, that I have not risen up to the expectation. I just blew it up with this too. It is the only room where I can think realistically about my abilities. Yeah, I know I can write. But is it good enough?
Why so serious, bad man?
With writing, I do not see myself the next Coanda of aviation, the next Marie Curie of radioactivity, or the next Shakespeare of my generation. It’s the only thing that allows me to be me, to think the way I do, to be… realistic.
And how do I wish that one day I will be so gifted as to hold my own novel… I won’t only do it for myself, I would do it for the sake of my dear ones, for the sake of my generation, for all the non-values that were tossed into the media and became icons of the 21st century. I would do it for the next generations and for my dear authors that fueled this thirst of mine.
I would do it for the memories and for the sake of that that was and that that will come and that that will be.
No, mamma didn’t raise no quitter
No sir, she did not! I do not quit. I won’t do it until I’ll find that it will kill me.
I was recently put face-to-face with another great fear of mine, and kind of facet it; now I’m no longer bothered by it, and decided to do the same with writing. That is why an aspirant writer has a blog about writing…
The last chapter of this blog will be about how I got to live my dream, but the long way ahead will let you discover how I cured all of my greatest fears.
Caution, precipitous way ahead!
Don’t get me wrong! I am not preaching writing to a toddler, selling it as candy. No way! I am actually telling you not to do it! Honestly! And not in the reverse psychology kind of way… I mean it. I still believe it’s not good, and I’m still impressed how I didn’t get myself sucked into that worm hole, lost forever, with no escape. AS IF…
I have managed to make small earnings of it. But small. If you add up all the inflow and the outflow of it all… fun’s all that matters in the end! 😉
Make the smart choice in what concerns you and your future! Writing is just my first step for a better, freer, more self-conscious ME!