Like many writers I feel tempted to dabble in ink and taste the misery of writing at the same time.
Some writing projects are so visceral that they bring forth thoughts and emotions that have been kept under wraps for years or decades. There is no way to turn back once you have committed. The only way is forward , going deeper into the recesses of the mind, being relentless with the memories and the impressions .
NaNoWriMo is one such project and after just a week of writing crazily, I am amazed at what it entails. The first few thousand words flow easily ; they tumble out quick and fast and there is a feeling that it is the precursor to a flood of words.
With the month long writing, I am trying to deal with my fears. It is not the fear of failure; of not being able to reach 50,000 words or even the fear of succeeding but the fear of knowing finally that I cannot write. I have held the idea that there are infinite words bottled up inside me and all I need is the time and the inclination to write them. For this month I give myself the luxury of time and the resolve of following through to thousands of words, much more than what I could comfortably write till now. At the end of it all, or maybe even before that I might discover that I. Cannot. Write. More.
There is also the fear of putting out all of my impressions into words, the impressions that have been accumulated till now. After I let go of them all, would I be empty inside? Would I be able to dredge up even a single word more? Would I be able to look at the world through new eyes again? Would I ever be able to hoard up more emotions that I could express?
I also want the exhilaration of knowledge . Of knowing how I can write. Whether I can write in sprints or in longer stretches; what times are the best for my writing, what really inspires me- grief, pain, love, longing, joy, achievement? What would it take to push me out of my comfort zone and once out there what I am capable of ?
I am writing and discovering…