I recognize the beauty of writing for relief; a need to bare it all on ink and paper. The joy and satisfaction that comes from this is simply ecstatic: maybe it is purely synonymous to the joy at birth or for those of us who see nothing else pleasurable beyond sex, then a purely sexual gratification.
Nowadays, people create blogs everywhere and the internet has revealed the world is indeed full of ideas everyone wants to share, yet, like the disaster of “too many cooks” everyone wants to get popular in a jiffy. The ideas that would have simply borne incredulity has become linear in itself if I am permitted to use this word. I believe my great philosophy professor, Oladipo Segun, may roll over in his grave right now.
There is always that temptation to just make your presence known in the world. As beautiful as this seem, we lose control when we simply try to be something other than we are. Let me use an example of the recent human disasters I had the opportunity( I am wondering here why it is an opportunity since I paid cash for the subscription) to see on the new programme called Botched on E. A man had surgery just to make himself look like Madonna! Now I ask penance if I seem ignorant about such matters but asides from the gift of music and energy Madonna has displayed, what is so spectacular about her: why would I leave the delicateness and ingenuity of “Myself” just to become a copy of another?
Back to the matter, I love the feel of pen on blank paper. I love it maybe a little too much. Yet, I feel something akin to disaster when I write something that does not sound remotely real to me. I do not know how to write for people, it is a gift I do not have but I have come to realize when I just write for the sake of relief, allowing my emotions to pour forth the best way I can capture it then there is a catharsis. I am relieved for the sake of being emotionally unheavy.
Whenever I read up blogs of people famous for their writing skills e.g. Seun Odukoya’s blog, Adc writes, Tls place, T.bards blog, Seun Alade’s blog to mention a few, I feel like they are identifying with something essential in the fabric of existence that gives no bullocks what you feel even when some of them are works of fiction. They paint the picture exactly as it occurs to them. Yes, some of us are better artists than others and they bring to society: the mind, exactly how the idea they want to capture appears to them. Now you can give each of them the same piece to write but they will come at it from different angles because they are different beings and you will still feel complete. They are simply adding their individual signature to the fabric of time. This in itself is something essentially beautiful.
In essence, when ideas are written from the heart, you feel the exact imprint of an individual in the fabric of existence and I feel this is what being individuals really mean. There is simply no need trying to capture attention simply because you want to increase your followers. Write the way you can exactly what you feel and you will realize that it is a product, sooner than later, your imprint will make itself known.
I wished I was a good writer yet I know I am not. I simply leave the writers to show their finesse while I just paint my emotions with words that readily come to mind: sometimes am apt enough, other times I paint an obvious idea behind abstractness. The simple truth is that I sometimes have no control over what I write. I think this is where the muse comes in for the bard. I just allow the idea run itself into words of its own choosing.
Now that I have set down this idea I believe I have fulfilled one of the inherent duties I feel obliged to do. If it becomes pressed, good but if not, I have arrived at the ecstasy of having my mind unburdened. I believe that is enough.