Sunshine & Chocolate & Everything Writing

Writing as if I have something to say.

Dream a little dream, share a nasty thought…

Posted by Line Larsen on August 31, 2008

So there I was, staring at myself in the mirror and grimacing. My stomach stuck out like a bongo drum, my butt looked deflated and my breasts hung down to my hardly existent waist. Frankly, I wanted to cry. I thanked the questionable lord that no one could see me. The problem was that I was looking for an outfit fit for a wedding, something that many people would in fact see, and this was the best of the worst so far.

I felt humiliated. I was tired and sore in unmentionable places from all the walking back and forth between stores. It occurred to me that I had never before felt this bad about myself and my body… And smiled.

It was a brand new experience.

Much like how I recently realised how it feels to have simple wishes in life, like a place to live and a job to go to. Much like how I know now why someone may want another person dead, what level of infuriation that would require.

I gather all these debasing moments and keep them as valued memories. While most may wish to suppress them and never think about them again, I treasure them. Why?

Because I am a writer and that is part of a writer’s job. Talent comes from taking all the little bits that make you unique, all your experience and all your thoughts, and turning them into something worth sharing.

Sometimes writing fiction feels like opening up to complete strangers, as if all sides of me are completely visible and tangible to all my current and future readers. Luckily, this is not the case. You refine feelings and ordeals, pad them out, play around with them and eventually end up with something unrecognisable to most people.

However, it still hurts. You are constantly poking your soft spots, your weak sides, your dark sides. Grasping on to even the gloomiest of moods and feeling the full force of it while describing it to yourself in your head. It could make the sanest of people lose their bearings now and again.

(You must forgive me for telling the following story, not knowing it’s origin or remembering who they spoke of. If anyone does, do feel free to leave a comment about it.)

An author was on his death bed, barely able to speak or move. As he was obviously getting close to the radiant white light at the end of the tunnel, he asked for his pen and paper. With significant effort he hurriedly added a few lines of writing to his current project and then proceeded with dying. Apparently the scene he added to involved the death of a main character. He finally had the inspiration he needed to finish it.

Which happens to be my dream: To have that amount of passion.

Thank you to Marks and Spencer for inspiring this entry.

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