Monday, June 11, 2012

Writer's block


"The music lets me see the story but the story doesn't let me write the words."















There are good days and there are bad. This must be one of those worst. 

Writers in their great imagination and world play invented many reasons why they couldn’t write. Some needs to be drugged; others must be naked, freeing themselves from the binds of the earthly truth. Long before, I discovered mine. 

Pain is what drives me to write. Not just any ordinary pain but great pain, so great that it pierces through the soul, damaging enough to course through the many parallel universes of countless present. So that in pain springs depression and by depression comes solitude. I feed on pain to summon the sweetest most delicate words. I feed on pain like a wicked witch would feed on children’s dreams. 

Sometimes I pretend to be in pain just to delude the mind hoping in return it would give words the quiet heart couldn’t muster. I’ll put on the leather boots, the faded vintage jeans and the dark jacket, soaking on the idea of how I’m a victim of this world, pretending to be a badass or hoping to become a real hipster. By the cold streets, evading people’s gaze while the smoke travels from the mouth to the grey skies above. By those warm come coffee shops, staring into nothingness until breathing is the only thing to hear.

You will hate me for saying this, but I’ve been up to using people from the past to gather the illusive thoughts. Remember the fat boy who treated you like dog. Remember the old man who shamed you before throwing you to join the thrash. Remember the liar, remember the priest, remember the bastard, the crook and the beast. I would scratch those wounds hard enough allowing the glaring blood to ooze out once more and then I’ll have my ink. 

This is why I’m more effective as a journalist. I write and tell what is happening with all the intensity of it, the danger and its colliding elements. It is not about me. Yes it is in accordance with my perspective but the words, the emotion, the entire moment, they are not mine. 

I am told that I must be a sad little person for I cannot write happy. It is such a curious notion that I don’t know which words to use to defend myself for it is not entirely true. True that I cannot write you about my state of happiness. True that I cannot provide a happy narrative about this country or the people that lives in it. I can’t because I simply don’t know how. 

I used to snort at those who proudly claim they’re writers for obviously they don’t know what they’re claiming. Being a writer is not a privilege; it is a curse. It is a vocation not meant to pride yourself but rather to humble you. But now I wonder if I’m a real writer, if I’m really meant for this. When the night is almost done and you’ve deleted more words than what was written. When there are too many voices, too many revolutions knocking on your temple and you don’t have the slightest idea where to place them. 

If I have the choice, I’ll go for a different profession. The one where you get to travel abroad and sit on those fancy conferences in a glittering city wearing Dolce for a suit and well-shined Givenchy shoes. Or probably the one where you get to go the office by nine in the morning and go straight home by six. I’d go for the one when I don’t have to juggle 3 jobs just so I can have a few more bucks to get good clothes and go out on a Saturday night for a change. I’d choose the one where I don’t have to rely on past heartaches and peddle myself in parties and other gatherings. 

The thing is when you’re turning twenty five, tired of keeping up with the professional world, single and with a bunch of heartaches and rejections to ponder about, you lose sight of whatever beauty they say lies before you. But in tugs and pull of the ocean in my eyes, those dreams that drag me from my bed to the middle of a howling city, ironically, there I find my worth. Only now, I really can’t write. 

11 reaction(s):

toiletdrama said...

If this is any worth, after reading your posts less than a month ago, I decided to write again. You inspire and entertain a lot of people. That should be a good place to start when at a loss for things to write.

Nate said...

you have this voice, when you write.. the kind of voice that reverberates to a reader's soul.. haven't i told you that you're supposed to be one of my blog muses? but, back then, i had typecast you as scary.. so yun.. :/

turns out, you're not naman.. and you have more heart than that gangsta-lookin' chronicler in the profile picture, who resembles Watchmen's Rorschach...

posts like these are the likes that leave a mark on people's thoughts.. this, in particular, says that Le Desole Boy experiences a writer's block too..

so, write, little brother.. in good days or in bad..

write.. :)

Mugen said...

We all write because of pain. and the thing is, we curse our own works. That's the sad thing about being a writer.

charles. said...

I like it when you compose those sad posts. :)

Hala si Kuya Nate! Scary daw! :p

Désolé Boy said...

Toiletdrama - Thoughtful words, monsieur. Thank you for the compliments. You should write more. I'll leave a comment next time. How about a new post for this month?
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Kuya Nate - A dying voice maybe? Haha. Seriously, I think, it's either writer's block or heartaches - only thing I ever shared here.
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Kuya Joms - Because writers are cursed. They carry a virus that turns them into zombies. I believe that.
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Charles - Ah, that is always the point. It's either a reader hates my melodramatic tendencies or they can simply identify themselves with them. Thank you.

♔ıǝɹɯɐı♔ said...

Pain also propels me to write. I think it's a wonder emotion or something. Even the greatest songs are of pain, love lost and the like.

KikomaxXx said...

hahah boss i feel you.. ganito din kadalasan ginagawa ko...

citybuoy said...

For someone with writer's block, you sure had a lot to say. lolz

Can we charge this to quarter-life crisis? Parang ilang years na rin ako stuck in the same feeling. :(

Yas Jayson said...

I heard sadness is a manifestation of faith too. You have faith, may it always bring you to fulfillment.

I like your picture. There is something there that tells me you are always safe.

Désolé Boy said...

iamrei - That's probably because everyone can relate to it.
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Kikomaxx - Bakit parang tahimik ka yata lately bossing?
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Citybouy - They say never trust a writer that writes about writing. :p
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Yas Jayson - I sure hope so. I live in a dangerous field, my friend.

SPLICE said...

A few years back, someone told me that a story ends the moment the writer tries to edit his work while actually writing it. Before you know it, "you’ve deleted more words than what [has been] written." I think it's perfectly normal. I've had it a number of times in the past. Most of the people I know who write have equally failed at that. Don't put yourself down DB. It will pass, like a cliché, like my advice hahaha!

Never has squeezing blood out of stone been any more difficult than writing our first sentence for a story we haven't even figured out yet.

 

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