A blank sheet. An immaculate representation of man’s momentary
solitude before he puts his pen down and make a 360 degree turn from reality.
The ink. To which he
is subjected to, gaining impulses from his soul to another. Translating it into
words, possessed by instinct, greed, longing and truth.
The writer. The
communicator, the maestro, the heart and soul to which another learns from. The
one who steps into his usual reverie, cunningly keeping pace, unravelling his
worth.
The cause for which we all are fighting for, to free ourselves and those who are enslaved by their innocence and ignorance --- to serve as instruments to voice out what is unseen, what is unheard, what is unspoken and those that are left forgotten.
For centuries, writing has been the fundamental method for relaying and exposing various ideas and notions. It has witnessed countless stories --- to which we have learned and benefitted from and to some extent, has even saved us from eternal damnation.
We write not for the sole purpose of wanting to eradicate the loose ends of our consciousness. When we write, our souls take over. It immerses with our intrusiveness and melds the way we think. We are not trying to impose our ground for idiosyncrasy we are merely hoping for a vindication for our conjured work.
Writing is passion. It creates a whole new avenue for us that we could call our own. However, it remains as a risk, a gamble --- a territory we know only too well. But we thrive on it, to give us drive and to make our works a little more profitable for the public to read.
Living in writing. We continue to exist in the belief that we are serving our purpose to reach out to those who need it, to educate the uneducated, to enrich the lives of those who are in despair and to spread the good vibes to those living in the shadows of darkness.
We write not for the sole purpose of wanting to eradicate the loose ends of our consciousness. When we write, our souls take over. It immerses with our intrusiveness and melds the way we think. We are not trying to impose our ground for idiosyncrasy we are merely hoping for a vindication for our conjured work.
Writing is passion. It creates a whole new avenue for us that we could call our own. However, it remains as a risk, a gamble --- a territory we know only too well. But we thrive on it, to give us drive and to make our works a little more profitable for the public to read.
Living in writing. We continue to exist in the belief that we are serving our purpose to reach out to those who need it, to educate the uneducated, to enrich the lives of those who are in despair and to spread the good vibes to those living in the shadows of darkness.
We say, bring it on. We are but one. We are not trying to stain the impeccable and the pristine state of literature before us. We are not even half-way there. We are simply but defiantly screams the word write.
Write, so be it.
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