Hypergraphia

Why do authors become authors? Have they been born with this craftsmanship?  No, they spent hours and hours, locked away in their own little worlds with only a pen and a notebook with lined paper. Paper, although it’s lined, you can cross the lines,  the possibilities are limitless. You can write grim descriptions of your own nightmares, with tall castles, dark roads, dead trees with empty trunks  and  hollow branches. Dialogues and monologues, meant to reveal   people’s tenebrous secrets only known by them and them alone.  Resort to poetry or lyrics if you need to unleash your locked feelings, your inner demons.

A question still lingers on my lips. Why do they choose writing as a way of expressing themselves in the first place? How does a writer’s brain work?  Does typing or writing trigger a chain reaction, releasing pleasurable morphine, hyping up their  thinking?   Are words scattered in their minds? Dialogues, scenarios, characters, events, actions.   How does their heart beat? Slow paced and calm? Ecstatic, erratically rhythmic, overwhelmed by the thrill of being transported into an alternate universe, away from the world, where they block other’s thoughts, able to only hear themselves?

What causes a writer to become an author? Why does want, become need out of a sudden? You realize you finally found a purpose, a thing you’re good at. So you practice, every day, improving with each step you take. Then it turns into a desire that never leaves your head, transfiguring into utter madness. Is it because of loneliness? Is it because of your worries?

 Or because you want to prove others that what you do is important, that someday, you’ll change the world only with your words. They don’t understand, and decide to label you as weird. In reality, you’re abnormally creative, much to everyone else’s dismay, expected to  be a  carbon copy of them and when you decide to stand out, by doing something different, they push you away. So they leave you be. The world was yours for writing. A saying goes:” Do more of what makes you happy” and then continues  “… and let it kill you.”

Don't let anyone stop you from doing it. Because your world will crumble if you do, it will fall apart with no notice. You will  no longer breathe in the pleasant scent of old, worn out paper. The words will stop flowing through your veins, your heart will cease beating, beginning to bleed ink until it dies. The days expire, and you feel emptier than ever, you crave what you used to have in your past human life.  You’ll lose your paradise, the thing  that makes you happy.

For what?  For the fact that you once heard “Stop dreaming, dreams are for fools”, “get your head out  from between books” “ writing is a waste of time, nobody reads anymore”,  “you’ll never make a living out of it.” pass before your ears.

They crave to subjugate, to control you.  No, stop yourself. You are strong, you have a brilliant mind, use it however you want instead of allowing yourself to belong to them. If you let them do that, you’re showing weakness. Weakness is for the  narrow minded. Remind yourself  why you chose this lifestyle every time you breathe. Be that mad, misunderstood genius everyone avoids, not that thick-skulled human, surrounded by everyone yet still unhappy with who you are and what you achieved by your own power.   Don’t be the puppet, don’t let them be the puppeteers beneath the shadow.

Be your puppeteer, choose where your life goes, if you don’t like the direction, change the way. It’s your life, make your journey the way you want it to be.  Chase the dream, don’t let it chase you  Fill it with joy, whatever it represents. If it happens to be writing, so be it.

Reviews

[J.M.Fields]

Wow that gave me a bit of motivation right there. Sometimes I just feel if I'm wasting my life away when I write... Then I have to remember that's what makes me happy. I don't do it for others I write for myself. Nice speech. :)