As a giant consumer of reading materials, I have always considered giving back by producing something bigger than what I have previously produced. But it’s hard.
I mean, I am half-convinced that most of the brilliant ideas of this Universe have already been pitched, marketed, packaged, written. What else can I give except this very quirky and occasionally dysfunctional lens with which I see the world that I live in? I don’t want to write yet another boring chronicle of a something-something by a twenty-something that others will just dismiss as figments of a woman’s hormonal imagination.I already get bitch-slapped for being self-absorbed in real life. It will be useless and uninteresting to replicate a character who is just like me.
Writing above my age range is out of reach. Writing below my age range is also difficult because my weird head finds it hard to translate my ideas it into something that a young ones will be able to digest. My sister always tells me that I make her nose bleed all the time (I don’t mean to!). So, what now… will I just succumb to book addiction without giving something back?
Always, writing gurus will say that everyone has a story to tell. I just was not sure which of these stories in my head are worth telling or can be considered uniquely palatable to the intelligent readers I want to give back to. More importantly, I am not so sure if I can actually construct the story in full. I cannot count the number of times I wrote the first three chapters and then I hit delete and empty my recycle bin. If I accumulate all those beginning chapters, I’d have a frigging saga of beginnings by now. Some people already volunteered to review my work. I am afraid that they will kill my darlings so brutally but I think that’s part of the whole idea of reaching out to potential readers, anyway.
I guess the more logical thing to do is to continue trying. So that’s what I did for the last few months, weeks, days. I tried to make some vague sketches of main characters and some other supporting roles. Now I have this web of imaginary people who are not me and I have to make them talk in my head or something to have a dynamic that I can work with. And the challenge is not to go insane when they actually start talking to me in my imagination.
The real danger of attempting fiction is that sometimes, the characters tend to become someone I know from real life. I know it really happens to anybody who tried this thing. But I really try to create something new, something outside of this world that I am in even if I borrow certain quirks and profiles from the real world just to get things rolling.
And the more that I attempt to write these sketchy sketches out in my spare time, the more I have an enormous respect for the brilliant writers who influence and inspire me to do this. How can they make it all seem so easy? When I am reading something so intricate, insightful, and moving, I wonder at how the author’s imagination managed to capture his experiences and reflect it in such a clear and colorful manner?
It’s hard to be considered a real writer’s writer. But my hope is that I can have even just one piece of creation, a finished story that is not just a something of a twenty-something. (Because pretty much, that’s what many blogs have, this included.)
Hoping that today’s sketchy character sketches can become tomorrow’s crystal clear and fully grown creation.