How can I write a blog? I’m an impulsive storywriter at best who doesn’t really write “for” other people, usually, that is. Tough! Even if I’m not ideally suited, I’ve agreed to do this. You need the right moment to start writing and I think this is one.
What can I write about? I’ve had Ideas swirling through my head and until I start properly I won’t know what I’ve picked. “The Kingdom”? “A Cynical Condemnation of Capitalism”? Sitting here I’m feeling ironic, so, I think I will write, about how I write. Ooh and I could use quotes from some of my pieces. At best I will come across as a storywriter and at worst, a hypocrite. What could go wrong?
“As these ideas flow from my head, to my hand, to the pen, to the paper, the words don’t seem to come with them. I don’t think I have the time to say what I want, nor do I want the time to say what I need to.”
I heard someone describe creativity in writing as a wave. Sometimes you can feel it coming and if you catch it at the right time it can carry you for hours. I can honestly relate.
“…He didn’t know what he was waiting for, rather he had a sense that he should wait. It might seem weird but he often got these feelings and had learned that nothing was lost by humouring them.”
If I sit down and the time is right, at some point later I will type the last word and realise that I am finished. Most of the times I have done this I had no idea where the story was going and at times I had no idea what I was writing. When that happens, everything feels perfect. I have, at times like this felt so like I was reading something new rather than writing it that I have wondered if God was telling me what to write. I often wonder if this “Prophet Complex” is just too outlandish, but in a similar vein to Michael’s philosophy on the lyrics “You give and take away.” it is a thought that, even if wrong, is helpful as it keeps me grounded. I can never, in utter certainty, claim praise for “my work”.
“You will find that wrong can mean very different things depending on who says it.”
Something I’ve noticed and has really surprised me is that in writing I seem to be far more philosophical than I am in the flesh. People have asked me about certain lines in my stories, this one in particular;
“Without light there was never any shadow, and evil was never the opposite of good, only its absence.”
And it becomes awkward as the only response that comes to mind is: “I just wrote it down.” Which never really answers their question. Each time I think about these small lines in my pieces, I wonder if they really should be there, but I believe they are true, though I may not be able to articulately explain the emotion behind them.
“…Men like his father that had seen enough of life that they were happy to die and men that had seen so little of life that they were happy to die. But what worried the boy most were the men who were still seeing the best bits of what life had to offer and yet did die.”
That’s another thing, at times when writing I don’t care about the words I’m using, rather I’m feeling the emotion behind them. In an interview, Ed Sheeran described a cathartic release of emotion in song writing and in some way I feel the same. Lines like the above express emotion that I may never have experienced but in the moment of translation to paper it feels so real that I could be crying (and have cried) while I was writing it down.
“The wizened storyteller crouched over his crackling fire, a knowing twinkle in his eye.”
“The way the wanderer spoke made the scenes he described appear in the back of my mind. By his ending line our eyes were all closed as our minds played out before us the scenes he described. Except the children. Without exception, they stared into the embers of a dead, or at least dying, fire pit. Apparently they could see something in those red coals that we all missed.”
“His story finished, the welcome stranger gazed around the campfire with misty eyes.”
These were taken from different stories I have written and it seems to have become an unintentional motif. There have been distinct times in my life where I have gotten pictures, scenes or some message or emotion that I felt the Lord wanted someone specific, usually close to me, to hear. But never have I got something directly for me. Rethinking that, I’m wondering if God has chosen to speak to me through my stories. Could it be that that’s how God sees me? A travelled storyteller? Or is that just my “Prophet Complex” speaking? Weaving stories has its own magic to it and if that’s all it is I’m content with that. I hope there is something more and it will be a while yet before I know for sure. But until then I will keep writing… or rather keep waiting for those perfect moments, to pick up the thread of a new tale and go from there.