**As published in Sunstar:
http://www.sunstar.com.ph/baguio/opinion/2013/04/14/brett-pens-blocks-and-word-madness-277554
I HAVE been on a writing hiatus for quite sometime now. It wasn’t because I was preoccupied. This is not also the first time it happened. It actually occurs more often than I would have wanted to. I love to write. I love to share. I love to see how a reader or two out there could somehow relate to the sentiments and two cents I inject in the pieces I share. No feeling is better than knowing that in one way or another, you can strike a familiar chord with someone because of something you might have said. This is the main drive that has so far pushed me to write.
Well this seemingly long break comes from the fact that all of a sudden, I didn’t have anything interesting to write about. When I write, I don’t limit myself to genres and categories. I pen stuff that dwell mostly on culture and lifestyle—random ideas that I get while riding a bus, while eating a cup of noodles, while picking my nose, or from subconscious thoughts that I have before falling into that oblivion called sleep (which I eventually forget upon waking up).
http://www.sunstar.com.ph/baguio/opinion/2013/04/14/brett-pens-blocks-and-word-madness-277554
I HAVE been on a writing hiatus for quite sometime now. It wasn’t because I was preoccupied. This is not also the first time it happened. It actually occurs more often than I would have wanted to. I love to write. I love to share. I love to see how a reader or two out there could somehow relate to the sentiments and two cents I inject in the pieces I share. No feeling is better than knowing that in one way or another, you can strike a familiar chord with someone because of something you might have said. This is the main drive that has so far pushed me to write.
Well this seemingly long break comes from the fact that all of a sudden, I didn’t have anything interesting to write about. When I write, I don’t limit myself to genres and categories. I pen stuff that dwell mostly on culture and lifestyle—random ideas that I get while riding a bus, while eating a cup of noodles, while picking my nose, or from subconscious thoughts that I have before falling into that oblivion called sleep (which I eventually forget upon waking up).
But during unproductive intervals like these, I really try to rack my brains out for a write-worthy topic. I even tap trusty old Google for ways to come up with great story ideas. Yes, I am that desperate sometimes. It gives ridiculous suggestions like fishing from junk mail for inspiration and eavesdropping on conversations. However, fact remains that a bulb does not light up all the time. There may not be a bulb to start with in the first place.
Then I saw this fellow writer’s post saying he intends to rescind his blog that has been up and successfully running for almost three years. It alarmed me because I initially thought his passion for writing is gone hence the discontinuation of this brainchild. I didn’t know that the drive for something could fade and ultimately disappear. Fortunately, he says the urge to maintain this baby of his died but not his ardor in writing.
But for a minute there, it scared and worried me thinking that this might be the reason why there are a lot of instances when my mind just refuses to produce words in color. That I am losing the zeal to tell stories and play with words, that I may have lost that bulb that incessantly lights up during the most unexpected times. I’m fervently hoping this is just one of the many stages being undergone in the growth process, because yes, I’m very much an amateur in this turf that I really love to develop myself and immerse in.
People who write do so because they are driven by the need to communicate. They have all these ideas—bizarre or otherwise, incubated inside the mind that just need to be expressed and understood. I write for a variety of reasons too. But perhaps I mostly write so I can remember. There are a lot of things and emotions that I want to capture the way photographers do with their lenses. Pictures in my mind that must be penned on paper, or should I say tapped on the keyboard. My reasons are not as eccentric as other writers who have extreme rationales. Notable authors like George Orwell saying it’s for sheer egoism and Lord Byron declaring that it’s his potion against lunacy. To borrow his words, “If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.”
So I have to remind myself to remember my own reasons. That I know my pieces may not afford me a fat paycheck or recognition of some sort but it offers a world of opportunity and infinite possibilities of what ifs and maybes. It’s an avenue for exploring beyond the barriers of this humdrum daily existence. It is expression without mincing the words; where you can reflect self-indulgence and vanity; where you can ink all those imperfect and awkward thoughts, you’re unstoppable.
Writing is feeling alive. It is life, only larger. Glad to be reminded.
Then I saw this fellow writer’s post saying he intends to rescind his blog that has been up and successfully running for almost three years. It alarmed me because I initially thought his passion for writing is gone hence the discontinuation of this brainchild. I didn’t know that the drive for something could fade and ultimately disappear. Fortunately, he says the urge to maintain this baby of his died but not his ardor in writing.
But for a minute there, it scared and worried me thinking that this might be the reason why there are a lot of instances when my mind just refuses to produce words in color. That I am losing the zeal to tell stories and play with words, that I may have lost that bulb that incessantly lights up during the most unexpected times. I’m fervently hoping this is just one of the many stages being undergone in the growth process, because yes, I’m very much an amateur in this turf that I really love to develop myself and immerse in.
People who write do so because they are driven by the need to communicate. They have all these ideas—bizarre or otherwise, incubated inside the mind that just need to be expressed and understood. I write for a variety of reasons too. But perhaps I mostly write so I can remember. There are a lot of things and emotions that I want to capture the way photographers do with their lenses. Pictures in my mind that must be penned on paper, or should I say tapped on the keyboard. My reasons are not as eccentric as other writers who have extreme rationales. Notable authors like George Orwell saying it’s for sheer egoism and Lord Byron declaring that it’s his potion against lunacy. To borrow his words, “If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.”
So I have to remind myself to remember my own reasons. That I know my pieces may not afford me a fat paycheck or recognition of some sort but it offers a world of opportunity and infinite possibilities of what ifs and maybes. It’s an avenue for exploring beyond the barriers of this humdrum daily existence. It is expression without mincing the words; where you can reflect self-indulgence and vanity; where you can ink all those imperfect and awkward thoughts, you’re unstoppable.
Writing is feeling alive. It is life, only larger. Glad to be reminded.