One Step Closer And Everything Collapses

Thought I tried to explain
But it doesn’t make a lot of sense if you can’t name names
When I lowered my voice
You were dozing off and drifting further off the coast

The loveliness of writing is often forgotten when one feels forced to write. Perhaps the loveliness of writing is to write when you feel like you have something to write, when something touches a place inside you, overflowing your head with words and images you just have to put on paper, immediately. This is a wonderful experience, and it’s this loveliness of writing that has made me so sure of my plans for the future (which is to study literature and creative writing). But what of it when it feels forced and silly?

My impression is that the more you write, the more you will want to write. I have never before immersed myself in a project as huge as a novel, but now that I’m fairly well into it, I realise it is not so intimidating as I immediately thought. The good thing about NaNoWriMo is, in my eyes, that you put quantity above quality. Your goal is to reach the word count, not to write an amazing masterpiece. And I know that the “novel” I am writing now will be no masterpiece – probably far from it! – but I will be able to see for myself that writing a novel-sized text is possible, and I will have done it, and I will have done it in 30 fucking days. This is all amazing! And, who knows – amongst all the shitty dialogues and over-clichéed scenes there might be a few golden ones that could actually be used for something good later.

Now I know that some of you dear readers might not care a lot about NaNoWriMo, or writing, but as you know, I am quite prone to write about subjects that fascinate and mystify me, and writing is definitely one of these. As I have written about before, the magical thing about writing is to be able to put thoughts and feelings down on paper and, if you manage that task well enough, you can bring other people to that same state of mind. How amazing is that? I am currently reading Jane Eyre (yes, I am lagging behind on the classical books, I know), and in my opinion it is such a wonderful book because there are so many scenes where I can just live myself into them. Charlotte Brontë really manages to give me the feel of the environment Jane is in, and her encounters with other characters is so real to me.

Reading books that are able to make me feel like I do when I read that book makes me want to strive towards being able to write the same. (Was that a horribly difficult sentence? Sorry.) Which is why every piece of writing I do lately is filled to the brim with descriptions of the scenes, and not to mention of the way each word and movement from one character makes the other character feel, and so on. Sometimes I even have to stop myself, because honestly, the reader is (hopefully) not completely stupid, so I should not need to describe every tiny little detail that their imagination can fill in themselves.

But I don’t know, I don’t really dare to go back and read through it, I just write and see what comes out of it. Now is definitely not the time to be critical – now is the time to write whatever the fuck I want. Well, here you go, yet another random blog post. Shall we see if I can manage to write one each day for the rest of November? … I know you’d like that.

[Song: Domino | Artist: Sondre Lerche]