What Do Writers Have In Common?

     What do writers have in common? Well, they procrastinate. We covered that in a previous post. But what happens after arranging and rearranging their work spaces; sharpening all their pencils and cleaning all the buttons on their keyboards with an ear bud? After all the research is done and all the coffee is drunk and too many bathroom breaks have been taken that people will start to get suspicious, what all writers invariably do is that they sit down and write. And when they do, they change the world one small piece at a time.

     The fact is that no matter how frequent (or infrequent) a writers write, they always come back to their papers; keyboards; or typewriters. And that tells me that the most important thing writers have in common is that they are optimists.

     People are different, and so are writers (they are people too you know!). Some may be more optimistic than others. Some may be more PESSIMISTIC than others. However, even the most pessimistic writer still continues to write.

     It's true that most writers are prone to depression (who wouldn't be after getting a dozen or so rejections saying that the work dearest to your heart; the one you've been pouring over for the past two years, is "not publishable"). Yet despite the rejections, writers write. Despite the depression, writers write. Some may write happy endings and others write sad ones. Some create hopeful stories and others create dark ones. Some make up stories and others write about real life. No matter what it is they write, whether it's on paper or a keyboard, all writers wish that one day their words will be read and that they will make a difference. The journey of writing always has a scent of optimism clinging to it.

     So, there you have it. What do writers have in common?

     They hope, they dream and they write.

The Winds of Change

          For a long time I wished to become a writer and to produce work that I could call my own. School papers didn't count because I dreamed of making something original; something that came from me; my words and my ideas. Needless to say, I came across that all-too-familiar bump of self-doubt when you think that you don't have any original ideas and nothing you have to say is of importance to anyone but yourself. But years later, I managed to cross over that bump. I'm still not sure if what I have to say is of importance to anyone but myself but I decided to make it heard anyway and people can judge for themselves.

      At first I thought I would never, ever, be able to write fiction. Non-fiction, maybe. But fiction seemed like too high a peak to attempt to climb. Mind you, I was not thinking of writing a novel. Just the idea of writing fiction was too daunting. Maybe it was just a childhood fear or something. (Note to self: check with therapist about this)

     Now that I am writing my first novel (I will leave it to you to judge if I can write fiction), I thought it might be a good idea to share with you the very first effort I made to write fiction. It was a short story titled The Winds of Change. Leave your comments below and let us know what were you're first attempts at writing. If you would like, you could also let me know if you want to read my novel. i might just send you a free copy.

The Winds of Change

     Waking up suddenly in the middle of the night, the young man was drenched in sweat, hyperventilating. He thought it was just a bad dream, but there was this nagging feeling itching at the back of his mind that something was wrong; something real was wrong. Not a dream.

     Then he heard it. The winds. The low distant whistle of the winds; those winds from the south that his father so often told him about; so often warned him about.

     He ran out of his bed to his brother’s room, not bothering to turn on the lights. His father was keen to train him to roam these corridors in the dark, for when the winds of the south were to come; they would take away the light.

     He called out his brother’s name. His brother was sound asleep, unaware of the impending danger, believing that the distant whistles were no more than the trees whispering as they have always done in the late hours of the night. No matter how many times he tried to explain to his brother he never believed.

***

     The young man sensing the winds closing in rushed his sleepy, unsuspecting brother out of bed. Stumbling in the dark, the brother insisted to take his time to turn on the lights, which he tried to do, but The Winds of The South were now no longer whispering, they were howling, ever so closely. And they had taken away the lights.

     Realizing the danger was drawing closer, the brother struggled to recall his father’s wisdom, but the howling of the wind drowned out the voice of his father in his head. He took a second to breathe and regain his thoughts and as he looked up, he could not help but admire the steadiness of the young man's steps, the purpose by which he marched forward and the skill by which he maneuvered through the darkened pathways of the house. At that moment he realized his survival meant to follow the leader through the screams of the wind. For the leader carried the wisdom of the father.

     The howling turned into screams and the weakest parts of the house’s outer frame began to tear away and as time passed; the more the wind came closer, the more it took away from the house. The more it gained speed, the more the inhabitants of the neighboring houses screamed louder and the more the winds sounded as if they are laughing; claiming their victims from among the unsuspecting inhabitants as, one by one, they became victims of The Winds of The South.

***

     Finally, they found the door. The door their father had always told them about; the door to the bunker that was designed to withstand the most powerful assault of The Winds of The South. Needless to say, the young man who was leading the way had always known by heart what to type in order to open the door to safety. It was his father’s golden rule: “Luck favors those who are prepared”.

     As the door opened and they entered into safety, they could hear the laughter of the wind rising at their heels and they could see that the frame of the house that was built by their great grandfather still stood fast against the winds.

     That’s when the laughter faded. That’s when the wind retreated. And that’s when they knew that they are safe. Their house was not lost. All it will take is to add some parts to the enduring strong frame and their house will be as good as new.

     So as they each imagined how they will rebuild their house again, they pictured a vision of an even stronger house; a house without the weaknesses of the past. That's when they looked at each other, finally understanding, why in their father’s story, The Winds of The South were always called…The Winds of Change.

Writers Procrastinate

     “Never put off till tomorrow what may be done the day after tomorrow just as well". Mark Twain, from: "More Maxims of Mark”. 

     Writers procrastinate. It's a fact of life that, one can argue, is truer than our need to eat and drink. After all, we can all name a writer who, at one time at least, was so occupied by his writing that he (or she, procrastination knows no genders) forgot to eat or drink. But no one can name a writer who hasn't procrastinated at least once.

     You can find hilarious stories about procrastination anywhere you search. And although procrastination is practiced by everyone the world over, it seems that writers are the ones most famous for it.

     When writers start with those first pages of their careers, they can always picture themselves publishing that breakthrough book; making loads of money; becoming a household name. In other words, becoming J.K.Rowling! 

     But quickly after that all writers realize all the grueling work that goes into writing just one book. And imagine their feeling when they realize that that will be the one to get rejected. Writing, rewriting then rewriting again is just the start. Then there's editing and cutting and probably rewriting again. Drafts upon drafts follow each other until the work is ready for the world and hopefully the world is ready for IT!

     The road to success as a writer is very long. Sometimes it can turn out shorter than you thought but it will never be easy. And the sad fact is that not everyone follows that road to the end, and at different spots along the way many talented writers drop out. Maybe it's the editing that gets to some of them or the rejections or the rewrites. No matter what it is that gets to them, they all have one thing in common; the first step of that road; that first page. And, of course, procrastination.

     Even if all you've ever written was a journal entry, chances are that with the second entry you thought of calling your best friend first to tell them how great this journal writing thing is!

     Procrastination can kill talent, or at best, bury it under mounds of nonsense. Writers write. That's what they do. So if you are a writer. Write. And if you really can't help procrastinating, be smart and call it research.

     For more on procrastination go to:

http://writerswrite1.wordpress.com/2013/07/10/writers-block-and-the-fine-art-of-procrastination/

http://grammar.about.com/od/writersonwriting/a/benchavoid.htm

http://www.slate.com/articles/arts/culturebox/features/2013/daily_rituals/franz_kafka_was_a_great_procrastinator.html

Being an Introvert Hurts

     Being an introvert in today's world hurts. It's exhausting. It's psychologically demanding. And in some cases it takes its toll on you physically. That being said, I still believe that being an introvert...is awesome.

     A few months ago, being a textbook introvert myself, I picked up Susan Cain's book QUIET: The Power of Introverts In a World That Can't Stop Talking. In her book, Susan mentions a scientific experiment (I don't really remember the name of the scientist, but it's in the book, I swear), that demonstrated whether being an introvert is nature or nurture. Are you born an introvert or do you grow up to be one?

     Like so many other studies about human nature, this study concluded that both nature and nurture play a role, and who you are today is a mix between the hand you've been dealt at birth and how you decided to play it along the way.

     What's all this got to do with hurt and pain? Well, in this study it was found that babies, who grew up to be introverts, cried a lot and were annoyed and agitated by the different stimuli they were exposed to like noise and such. Why? Because it turns out that introverts are very sensitive to external stimuli. They pick up on most things going on around them and they have a reaction to it. And as babies, just as the adult ones, the noise was too much for them.

     I only realized the nature of being an introvert a couple of years ago. Before that I had no explanation for all the sad stories from my childhood about the countless times I cried, in class and at home, for reasons that, to others, seemed ridiculous. I could never get them to understand that changing my music teacher was just too much to take.

     I remember crying my eyes out on the first day of school, after we had moved to a different country, because I was so embarrassed for not understanding what to do during the assembly. The teachers were talking in code. And all the kids were responding in unison. It was like a scene out of an Orwellian novel. 

 Turns out the teacher was just calling out different morning stretching exercises. I was let in on the secret later that day when someone felt sorry for me after a full day of intermittent crying bouts. I was also scarred for life on that same day when I saw the law of "Survival Of The Fittest" displayed full fledged by the kids as they FOUGHT to choose their seats in the classroom.

     As an adult, I still get that gut wrenching feeling I had that first day at school. I get it when a colleague says something hurtful and I don't want to respond; when I do a job and someone else gets the credit; when I realize that today I have to give a presentation in front of a room full of strangers out to get me even though I've gotten pretty good at it.

     Some would call me a wimp for having these feelings, but I like Susan Cain's explanation. I am an introvert.

     At last, what moved me to write this post is that I'm getting these feelings again now because my daughter starts school this month. And as she runs around excited by her new bag and chanting "going to school, going to school", I cannot shake off this knot in my stomach when I realize she will be going out into the world and, if she's an introvert, it's probably going to be exhausting for her too. It's probably going to hurt a lot and it's probably going to take its toll on her physically. But it's still going to be awesome!