The crackle, the flicker. Oh so fickle
Shadows cast. Hard and fast
Fuelling change, on splintered wisps
Smoke on water.
Ashes, a memory. Bright, celebrated reverie
Burning thirst. Drenched in fire
Born from a lingering spark. A craving for parched bark
The heat of spring, showered in curiosity
A longing ache for more.
The Writing Onion
So about four years ago, I got it into my head that I wanted to turn my day dreams, into stories. For those people who know me, well they can definitely tell you that I can be a little stubborn. Needless to say, I’m very happy that I am the way I am. I persisted, and kept on working on Echoes of The Past finishing the first draft, second, third and all the other drafts I churned out until I was satisfied that I had done as much as I possibly could.
Whenever I mention to someone that I’ve written a book they always ask me how I find the time and how I motivate myself to do so. For a long time now I’ve been flirting with the answer to this question, trying to understand myself, where this drive comes from. It’s kind of ironic isn’t it? That only now, four years down the track and with the second book well under its way that I think I have discovered the answer.
Originally my only dream was to be able to walk into a book store, and see my novel on the shelf, available for anyone to pick up, browse through, express an interest for or put back down. However after a while, I realized that this was not my motivation for writing. It was far far more than that.
To use Shrek’s analogy of Ogres and onions, I want to do the same with the answer, for you see, I think the reason I write, is a bit like an onion. As with anything for which I express passion, I feel like there are many layers which bolster and fuel the energy behind it.
First of all I have a love for reading, and if you un-wrap this layer of the writing onion, you come across vivid imagination. Why, Alex, what has a vivid imagination got to do with enjoying reading and why is that the second layer of your onion? Well, it is my belief, strictly my belief, may I add, that those people who love to read, do so because they fall in love with the pictures, accents, characters that they create in their minds using the combination of their imagination and the beautiful words of an author. This desire to allow my imagination to be unlocked is what triggers my passion for reading. Now, let’s strip the writing onion of its vivid imagination layer, and beneath this I discover a layer of day dreams, dreams that flicker across the edges of my mind while I sit in a boring lecture, or gripping thrillers which are left behind, hidden in the fog of my dreams that sneak up on me in my sleep. Each one of these is a tale inspired by what I have read, what I have seen, but most importantly what my vivid imagination has conjured. Removing this layer of my writing onion, I am left with the burning desire to express my dreams in such a way so that people, who like me, have vivid imaginations, and love to read, are able to enjoy my words and use their imagination to paint a picture in their minds which tells my story.
So to sum it up, the reason why I love to write, the reason I am able to sit down and stare at a blank page in Microsoft Word for hours on end, before typing out one sentence and then having to stop as nothing more comes to mind and yet I still continue is because of the writing onion.
So, tell me, why do you write?
The local kiwi