My literary ambitions are mixed up with feelings of being isolated and undervalued. I know I have a facility for words and a power of facing unpleasant facts and situations, and I feel that I’ve created some sort of private life in literature in which I can get my own back for my failures, especially academically, in my everyday life. I do not only report to others but also to myself first and foremost. I like the communication aspect of writing since it gives me a ‘somewhat’ safe platform to question the authority, societal rules, culture and identity.
I write not only to find a way into the world
but also to hold it away from me so that sheer, senseless events would not
devour me. I usually feel this powerful adrenaline rush and if I am in bed, I
jump out and reach for my ever present pen, a paper and my old flashlight in
order to pen down my sentiments. As most writers have sagely implied, during
that compulsive state of inspiration, I replica a pregnant woman in labour
pains and I therefore cannot sleep without devouring the paper with my pen.
Actually, most of my widely acclaimed poems, especially on my high school
weekly column Classroom Diaries; the
Poetic Muse, have been created in this convulsive mode. I have therefore
discovered the necessity of splitting from ‘reality’ and making a descriptive
literary effort under a kind of compulsion from outside.
I write mostly for myself, for my
self-regarding pleasure, trying to excel and always falling of the excellence I
desire. Although I fancy my writings, I sometimes write poor and unfinished
poems and I have, many times, attempted short stories although some have been
ghastly failures. I like the process of writing. It’s solitary and it makes me
sit and consider things to jot down. Surprisingly, I seldom compose in my head
before undertaking any writing. To me, it is like this powerful art is some
kind of calling, some sort of hypnosis. It just comes from some outside natural
force. Often, the first thing I do when I am conscious of a poem or any essay is
seek the pen and it seems as though gazing at a piece of blank paper hypnotises
me into the awareness of the subconscious.
I believe that my writings, both poems
and essays, are the fusion of the contradictory ideas that surround me and
inevitably affect my environment. As a budding writer, it is an art I practise
as a result of my emotional irritation and tension. I am firmly convinced that
any writer, I inclusive, must never respect tradition above his/her own
sincerity above all and to no public or personal acclaim, whatsoever alluring.
In my own opinion, I am supposed to write with all the courage what my
subconscious mind tells me unabated by the rankling consequences that I may
inadvertently face.
I love people responding to my
literature both positively and negatively. In my opinion, a formidable writer
is molded through criticism. It’s the same cornerstone in which, as a writer,
I’ve used to better my writing. So I like my audience taking me seriously. By
hearing their different opinions both from my fellow writers and listening to
my audiences’ responses, I can improve on my arts and develop to be more
appealing in the ensuring future.
I want to be a talented writer and an
original imaginative poet. Actually, I want to develop my own unique poetic
style that stands for me. I want to write books laden with plots, twists, and
jokey aside and nicely turned bits of zeitgeist (experience and outlook of age)
observation at humour. I want to write enormous dramatic novels with mostly
unhappy endings, full of detailed descriptions and arresting imagery and also
full of passages in which words are used partly for the sake of their sound.
Lastly and mostly, language in speech and momentously in writing is a living art related to the whole of any writer’s experience. My urge to write is the urge to give shape and meaning to my life. When I think, I write, and when I write, I choose my words carefully to convey what I think in the best way possible. As writers, our use of words should help us in molding our ideas, developing our arguments and exposing our feelings. A writer needs the mastery of language in the best way possible to impose form and character on life itself. With an impeccable mastery, I believe, any writer can thus prosper in the literary world.
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