SO I HAVE prepared my write-up on a very interesting topic for my weekly column for this paper when the universe decided to conspire against me by possessing my cats with unknown spirits of incredible speed and mischief as they run over on top of my keyboard producing letters and popping computer commands. The laptop, being so confused with what the user wants to do, decides to die before I could save my progress. So help me, God.
We always have bad days aside from Monday, but that should not be the day when we decide to write. We reschedule upcoming unfortunate events, moving it from Friday to Saturday, because it is writing we are talking about here—the bloodiest process in a writer's life. I can write a narrative with 1800 words in two hours, but know that, it will also take around a week or two to complete the conceptualization and in-depth research in between procrastination and actual work before writing it. Do not forget about the editing part; its workaround time is a different story.
Writing is peculiar in various ways. It demands to be felt when you are just about to close your eyes or when you are in the middle of a sumptuous dinner cutting your steak in half. You have to stop whatsoever important thing you are doing at the moment because the perfect thoughts for a perfect sentence will only knock once and that is more important than anything else. If you are in McDonalds enjoying your Big Mac, sometimes, you have to unwrap the burger and use the paper to jot down your thoughts because they are quick on their feet and might get away.
What makes writing extremely difficult is ensuring that the write-up is easy to read. Otherwise, it is bad piece. Choosing appropriate words to use in context for a clearer message to convey, is also hard work. Most of the time, I stare at my computer waiting it will blink on me before any thoughts, and even the will to write, will dawn on me. The thoughts in a writer's head is a labyrinth, oftentimes comprised of where to eat next and how the story should develop (at least that is for me all the time).
When the writer is ready to write, he will just type in one word next to another, and shall repeat this until done. Easy yet hard; writing is an antithesis, a hyperbole and an irony all in one. His plethora of thoughts, when written down, must be organized and should make sense. This is where I pause, take a smoke break, and simply think of nothing. I go back to my chair, start with the staring contest until I am ready to read what I have written so far. It is a process I am accustomed with and it is the most exhausting activity I am doing so far than running on two miles per hour on a treadmill plus a set of 100 crunches and push-ups.
I have a love-and-hate relationship with writing. Inasmuch as I scorn it, I also love it more than anything else. It is the only activity I fell in love with since little. Started writing letters to Santa Claus and ended up today writing for a local paper. Although it is a noble hobby, do not expect, though, that it pays your monthly rent and dues. It won't, unfortunately. Writing is an intimate, solitary endeavor but more than that, it serves a personal satisfaction to your soul.