Listening to: myself think
Reading: between the lines
Playing: with ideas
When I was in grade school, my dream was to have my own novel published. I read a few local comics, watched a few Tagalog-dubbed anime and cartoons, and I decided, "Hey, why don't I write a story of my own?"
I used up quite a lot of notebooks and pens in a span of 10 years. I never finished a thing I had a penchant for sci-fi and adventure but I'm so obsessive-compulsive about political correctness and accuracy that I kept on changing details as I went. Now, all I have of those stories are the thoughts in my head.
In college, I tried my hand at romance and short stories. I dabbled in different styles, but I found one that suited me best. Personally, I think I did well enough I received positive comments here and there, a handful of critiques, all of which made me want to be better. At the very least, I wanted an award some sort of affirmation that I really am good.
Of course, it didn't happen that way. I was hit by a spell of laziness that just didn't want to be shaken off. I graduated from college without submitting anything to any literary contest, newspaper, magazine, or website. Writing became my third arm. I wrote instead of talking to myself.
As I joined the rat race of the working class, I expanded my view on writing and literature. I bought and borrowed books. I worshiped those who created their own worlds because I couldn't create mine. Most of the time, I picked up bits of humor and witticism from different genres and applied them to my own writing. I felt good. I let it all out.
Close to four years ago, I made this account merely for the lack of something to do in the office. Its purpose was to serve as an archive of my previous literary works (or travesties, as the case may be) and a vessel for more, should the mood for writing strike me.
I used to upload something in my gallery at least twice a week, during the transition period from being a student to being an employee, when I still had nothing much to do. The fuel sort of petered out months later, when I was consumed with work and all I wanted to do during my free time was sleep and think. I couldn't summon up the energy to put all the words down on paper (or in my computer). I started to talking myself again just so I wouldn't forget.
Now I'm back to writing again. I picked up and am borrowing a few books to keep my brain working. I feel as if I'm back to testing the waters, but I'm writing for my own sake now.
But it wouldn't hurt if you drop by my blog or my dA account, have a look-see, and tell me what you think.
Live and let write. I'll see you back here soon.
(This post is mirrored in my blog, doodlemind.com - please do visit if you have the time.)