I fell upon an old short story I wrote a few months ago when I started my journey into the writing world, and I grew the desire to edit it in order to repost it as part of my blog. But something felt strange. I read the first few words and I hated it. I hated all of it. Did I write this? How could it be?
My mind twisted and turned at 100 mph. I wanted to fix everything, make it look nice, make it sound fresh and modern, the same way I write today. Yet, I couldn’t change anything. Like a point in time, it marked a stop I made and I had left, not looking back, always moving forward, perfecting my prose and my thoughts at the speed of a comet.
My evolution shocked me, and at the same time impressed me.
I didn’t realize how far I had come, how much heart I distilled inside my stories and how my characters morphed to become a purer reflection of my soul. My first steps were awkward, but you learn to crawl before you learn to walk. So it felt great.
I didn’t publish the story. I left it on the side of the road, never to be read again, because it wasn’t supposed to be shared. This was an experiment. A mistake that needed to be made in order for me to progress and blossom as a writer.
I however wondered whether my style would reach a peak and suddenly collapse, words not flowing like they used to, ideas entangled in dusty cobwebs deep inside my crazy mind, and my imagination would stop working, my muse abandoning me to seduce another writer, younger, smarter, more ambitious that I’d ever be….
How would I know when it was time to quit? I feared giving my readers leftovers instead of surprising new flavors. I secretly prayed not to ever face a lack of inspiration. I looked at these old words, and like a family picture, I smiled at the dimples on my chubby face and my curly toddler hair…. I reached maturity faster than I had hoped. It almost happened without me noticing….
I found my truth by writing. Don’t take it away from me too soon. I wish to enjoy it as long as I can, and I promise to let go when I sense it, oh how I promise to let go, and yet I never want to forget the wonderful feeling I experienced while putting all these words on paper. Like playing a beautiful composition, I reached heaven for a little while….
Muse, don’t leave me. Let me experience a few more revolutions before you decide to close the curtain on me. Please. Just a little longer, it wasn’t a mere dream, it felt real and I liked it, because writing is who I am, and what I want to be. Always. Never. Nothing’s supposed to last forever?
I simply realized I was only a drop in the pond, but what a drop I was.
My revolution had just begun.
The Manicheans 