“Impossible is not a fact. It’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.” — Muhammad Ali
“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring” -Marilyn Monroe
“All writers are vain, selfish and lazy, and at the very bottom of their motives lies a mystery. Writing a book is a long, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness. One would never undertake such a thing if one were not driven by some demon whom one can neither resist nor understand.” – George Orwell
Writing is therapeutic.
At least for me, it’s a way to let go of demons and feelings that haunt me. It forces me to analyze a situation and find somewhat of a conclusion to what I currently face. It’s a form of release, letting go, articulating what I feel and just moving on.
Other times, it’s a form of showing appreciation towards someone meaningful. It’s my way of letting them know that they’ve made such an impact in my life, I was actually inspired to create a piece of literature.
Writing is then a liberating, violent, passionate, beautiful activity.
But, what happens when after going through the whirlwind of emotions that usually precede a piece of writing — the tears, the cigarettes, the bottles of whiskey, the glasses of cheap wine that helped you dig deep into yourself, looking for words to describe your Utopia, the cloud you’re currently living on (or the absolute hell your burning yourself in) — you can’t share in any way what you’ve written?
When you can’t make it publicly available on your blog?
When you can’t even share it privately with whomever inspired you to write it in the first place? (Because you KNOW they won’t understand the complexities of your writer mind, the need to put feelings into words, the desire to make a few moments often considered mundane, perennial. Because, perhaps they won’t understand why there are any feelings at all).
What happens then?
I guess you wait for the right time. You open another bottle of cheap, organic wine and you wait. You switch from wine to whiskey and soda. You light up a cigarette, even though it does no good to you, even though you’ll probably end up inconveniencing them with an asthma attack tomorrow. You go back to the bottle of whiskey. This time you omit the soda and just hit it on the rocks.
You wait for that time when publishing perhaps the most honest and passionate piece of writing you’ve ever created will not affect either one of the parties involved. You actually care more about the other person’s interests than you do about your own. You’ve already bared yourself on a piece of paper. You already lay there naked, so what difference does it make for you?
This is not about fear, but about protecting the non-writer in your life. You’re waiting for the right time – that precise moment when publishing your story won’t affect the other party involved. When the circumstances that hold you back from making it public today are no longer relevant.
Because us writers have immunity in this crazy, hard to understand literary world. But the civilians we share our lives with don’t.
P.S. I have no patience. I’ll open another bottle of wine and wait because I still respect you. Tomorrow, I’ll turn to whiskey. And to your utter disappointment, there will be cigarettes every night until the day I’m able to publish our story.
Everywhere you go,
Take a look at the 5 and 10,
It’s glistening once again,
With candy canes and silver lanes that glow…
I’ve been following Hugh MacLeod’s work for a couple of years now. Today’s cartoon is pretty on point with the quest for happiness. Thought I’d share with everyone. Visit his online gallery for more witty and sometimes cynical cartoons.
La vida es una torre de experiencias sostenida por el tiempo. Maldito el tiempo que traiciona.
Welcome to your 26th year of life.
One day, very soon, as you are on your way to a job interview wearing pearl earrings and a corporate suit, you will look at yourself in the mirror and say: “Shit, I’m a grown woman”.
You will proceed to wear hip jeans and a pair of converse sneakers on the weekend (when you can get out of your grown-up woman’s attire), because it was scary to see yourself as a grown woman in the mirror that one day.
And, you will remember that post, Tener Miedo by Ismael Serrano, one of your favorite songwriters, that you forwarded to me the other day.
You will read it again, finding comfort in his words and understanding what the fear you felt in front of the mirror that day was all about.
Because fear is like a heart monitor that beeps with every heartbeat, thus indicating we are indeed alive. Living and desperate to find out how the chapters of the rest of our lives will read.
Happy Birthday, my friend.
Make your life an exclamation, not an explanation – Chinese Fortune Cookie
Abstract art. Probably one of the most debated and questioned forms of art that exist out there. And now South African artist Jeremy Brown might have added some heat to that debate with his Love is Art kit.
It is exactly what you might think it is: a kit with everything you need to make a work of art with someone special…. while making love. The kit includes a specially treated non-allergenic white cotton canvas, a bottle of non-toxic, washable black paint, a plastic sheet to protect surfaces from your love fest and two pairs of disposable slippers to take you from your work of art to the shower. You can purchase it online for USD$60.
I find this to be a beautiful and unique way of capturing an intimate moment for a lifetime. Jeremy Brown, you might have given me a reason to accept love in my life some day.
Until then, I encourage everyone else out there to awaken their inner Joan Miró and get to painting love.