Just A Normal Rant … About Writing … And Lost Dreams …

writers-dream

Some time ago, I was wrangling with an internet troll (more fool me) who, amongst other things, accused me of ‘needing to write’ to say what I thought. Honestly, I was really confused by this statement. Was this meant to be an insult?

For a total bookworm who goes through the day waiting for that final hour before I go to sleep, which is the only time I really have to continue reading my current book, it actually was a compliment.

OF COURSE I need to write! OF COURSE it helps me clarify and define what I think! Both to myself and others. And I actually enjoy it too! Why shouldn’t I? Some people vent their frustrations by going to the gym or eating a chocolate muffin, I prefer to write a good rant now and then, and let it all flow.

What’s more, I like it when someone reads my ‘rant’, and especially if the person takes the time to comment or say what they think. Even if they don’t agree with me, and even when it’s some irrational troll.

That being said, apart from venting stress or defining an opinion, writing something down makes it more real. It makes me feel less lonely, more alive and more aware of the issue / feeling I’m writing about.

When I was younger, I used to wish I had been born with a great talent for painting or a great gift for playing the piano. Well, I wasn’t and although I tried both, they became more and more something to do because ‘I had to’, rather than something I enjoyed and benefited from. Writing is the thing for me, and whether I publish a great Maltese novel and become famous for eternity, or simply write articles and blogs and be forgotten once I’m dead, I do not really care. I write because I cannot do otherwise. To stop would be tantamount to not eating.

Wow what a tirade. I must say, the troll I mentioned made me really conscious about how much I need to write. Thanks Ms Whatever.

Remember life is short and it may end at any moment of any day. Do not put off for tomorrow what you can achieve today. Dreams sometimes die. One leaves them in a corner while growing up, dusts them a bit now and again and looks at them fondly, only to abandon them once more. Until one day, you realise that the dust has damaged them and it is too late to use those wings to fly.

How about you, Mr and Ms Whatsits out there? Are you doing what you need to do? Do you have your own means of communication and creative sieve you use in order to clear your head?