My writing journey by Swit La Pound
I have been seeing a lot of posts and questions seeking the secrets to writing, so I thought, why not write about mine? As you probably know, a storyline and script don’t come and fall completely within a day or two. It’s a process and takes times longer than expected or imagined. I will attempt to break it down into segments and delve into each separately. Here goes!
For me, events, emotions, regrets, and hopes startup the need to put pen to paper. It is not an easy task finding the right words, the correct mood, and even surroundings. The first word, phrase, paragraph, is the hardest. Many a time, I scribble sentences in an attempt to begin, and find myself discarding or deleting the outcome. Only, once again, to find myself starring at the same blank page all over.
It's not so much as the lack of emotions that makes it hard, rather, its overwhelming emotions and thoughts, filling up inside and seeking to escape. The anger, the pain, the regrets and hopes, all of it wishes to pour out into the waiting blank canvas. Random and haphazard ideas fly by and get forgotten or discarded without further inspection, for they clarify or explain not, in my way, the words I want to truly say.
At times, it’s because I feel I have spilled too much of myself and the words do nothing but
expose me to waiting insults, misunderstanding, and judgment, so these pieces too, meet their destruction.
At times, self discouragement comes my way, trying to impress on me I cannot do this, it isn't
meant for me, and it's a hopeless attempt. Who is going to read your books? Who will care what you say or feel? Why pitch yourself up for disappointment? Why expose yourself now? What words will you even use? How is the story going to translate from the idea in your head, to a storyline that people find interest and joy in?
It is torture on its own, but, behind the doubtful, demeaning voices, stands a firm resolve and a lifelong need and wish to let free what has been caged in for years. A reminder of what the pain was like, painting every moment with dark stains that piece straight at my core-the realization that what happened to me cannot happen to my daughters, my friends, relations and any woman or child. Giving me renewed encouragement and strength to brave against the swelling tears and the tearing pain to let it out. A soft voice that encourages and tells me not to give up. A voice that reminds me that maybe my story will make a change and maybe save someone’s life and mind.
It is in my weakness, the same one that breaks me down, that I find hope and strength. Usually, once realization reminds me of my hearts desire to play my part in protecting those like myself, the weak, the oppressed, the abused, the goal then dictates and drives the emotions directly from head and heart to pen and paper. At times the words come in a trickle and required more thought and formulation, but at times, which is most times for me, once purpose regains control, words flood my head and empty the bitterness, the pain, the wishes outward. I find myself drowned in my writing and swooping through the pages, the outside world merely closed out and unimportant. I cry, smile, laugh with the lines, and live in every character's head, experiencing their struggles, joys, and emotions.