is one of the most interesting words I have ever come across in my entire life. It is unadulterated, unfiltered, obsessive, beautiful and as far as I’m concerned – timeless.
I feel this way about writing and maybe more so than writing, the very consequence of that – words. I love words, I love the way they make me feel and the magic that they invoke when used correctly in a sentence quite frankly, turns me on.
It all started with a heart that bled. A stupid non-start relationship that left me reeling. Either way, I wrote about it, in the most broken, emotionally-charged way possible. Poetry. Something, that I grew to love and actually get pretty good at. I always loved writing, and whilst poetry seemed abstract and antiquated, it helped me understand the world around me and reaffirm my feelings within that space.
But I felt something bigger on the horizon, an itch that poetry couldn’t scratch.
So, it was only natural that this fickle poet would turn to bigger and better things, the all-encompassing novel. And I say it this way because a novel is a commitment. Poetry can be done in minutes if your talented, (so for me it took hours.) A book, on the other hand, can take years. The process of conceptualization and visualization is not something that happens in an instant. Many a night, I would sit like Yoda, with my legs crossed pondering the intricacies of the universe, only to find the next chapter of my novel – as I pulled it from the ether.
It went on like this for a long time amongst the avails of working full-time and the realities of the world trampling down upon me. I realised that if I set aside other things and focused on writing, I could accomplish great feats and to my surprise the baby that I had manifested, gave birth in the form of a completed manuscript and one that I was proud of.
But something was wrong, I didn’t believe in myself, or my writing. Yet, I knew to some extent that it was good enough, especially after reading 50 shades (boy did that set the bar low).
I began reading these horror stories about writers who had written beautiful anthologies that had no chance to see the light of day, because of the writing overlords who sit in their tenebrous towers above us all.
I wasn’t going to fail, some how I knew I had to get my work out to the masses, I needed to connect with people, even if it wasn’t my novels just yet, that’s when I heard about blogging….
A few months ago, I stopped writing my second book (which is almost done) and focused on blogging. Why? Because it felt right and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this was my new path, my new way to explore my writing, a new vehicle for me to get my books out there.
The thing with dreams and passions is that over time, things change. That doesn’t mean your actual dream changes, but the way you go about achieving it – does. A lot of people perceive this as failure and that couldn’t be further from the truth.
You see, the path to success isn’t always a linear one, it bends, weaves and manipulates its course, much like time. Converging on moments that appear more important than others. When it comes to success, there’s no one size fits all. And honestly, you might think you have fallen further than humpty himself, but the truth is, you are still on the path.
“The winding road might look a bit like the beaten path, but this isn’t a Robert Frost poem, you are on your way to reaching your goals.” – Me
So, for those out there who feel like they have taken a step back from their dreams because the thing they are doing now doesn’t feel like it aligns with their trajectory, ask yourself, are you passionate about it? Because most times it’s the universes clever cute way of leading you right down the path you can’t see yet. So be passionate, be driven and you will get there, wherever there is.