“Writing requires writing.”

This quote by “the King” is so obvious and yet so underrated as a solution.

The very first time I heard it from Stephen I knew exactly what he was talking about. Magic is not in the end. It is in the process. Words are like dollar bills. They do not pour onto you. You need to chase them. Sometimes you need to wait and stalk for them in black corners of your mind. Sometimes they need to prepare and get dressed before coming out onto white paper.

Writing is acting and waiting at the same time. You act. You wait. You become. You produce. And there you are! Writer!

Some people read your books with never-ending appetite. Some people aggressively attack your words and way of thinking. Some people will never come across what you wrote. But some will be thunderstruck. At an exact day and location they will be shocked with what you have to say.

Writing is talking to those that you will never talk to. You instinctively hide behind the “gate of words” that is supposed to give you asylum and give a chance to a targeted person to unlock the message.

You almost scream like Kafka in your pages saying “It was all for you dad! It was all for you!” You almost scream her name. And she hears it from other loyal readers of yours.

Writing is hoping! It is hoping that we are more than just animals. We are the force of change and not only a link in the biological chain.

Writing is creation of specific music. The one that grows tender as you read. Every page is a note. There is chaos and balance. Your heart beat is adjusting to what it is reading. You are almost dancing with the author.

And here it comes, the last page. Ohh, you bastard, leaving me here on the dance floor when I am so excited and swayed by your charm. Authors are bastards. They give you a chance to look from the key hole and then they take this chance away. You are left alone. Facing the solitude, darkness and silence you wish to hear from this bastards again.

Some come back. Some don’t. Some dance with you again but not the way they did before. You feel that they have changed or you have. You hold each others hand for the last time. There is gratitude and sentiment. But there is no resentment. You are not the “naive child” anymore. You start to understand and give credit to this bastards. And yet, you prefer to keep the distance now.

Writing is tasting. Tasting the bitter-sweet of emotions that authors have to offer. Your lips taste words of coal and ice at the same period. You get thirsty and full in a matter of seconds. One sentence is enough to whip the hell out of your soul. Another makes you laugh like never before.

And here you are weeping.

Tears chasing each other as the innocent children do.

Writing is trying to heal. Yourself and others. But first yourself. Although consequentially others.

10 years ago I simply dreamed about writing a book.

Now I have four books. And I am still writing to get “there”.

#10yearschallenge #writing