I just finished writing my first book.
I expected a roller coaster ride but
never the intensity of the twists and turns I encountered.
I proved that late night writing, ever-popular oftentimes doubted writers block, caffeine overload, eternal mood swings, anxiety attacks and instant fast food fascination are real and ever present. Those events were expected but there is always an after taste that I didn’t see coming. It is sometimes bad but often a discovery of me and of all these things, living and non-living and the spaces in between, around me.
It is surprising how one character can conveniently alter the structure of my world and then… watch another painfully destroy it. Those were heartaches.
There is also the possession… of things that are not real and so real. And the disappointment of losing them either by necessity or by perverted natural transition of things. No one warned me that it is more devastating to lose someone or something you never possessed.
The challenge to create something new… fresh… unexpected, whatever the fuck that means, out of a clean sheet of paper. These are the moments that make you want to walk the world upside down or use a filter on your eyes or do things inside out.
It brings out the most insane ideas especially when there are conflicts that can’t be resolved or loose ends that need to be tied in the interest of creating a seamless exploration of emotions and events. High after high and a low just deep. In the end, the insane starts making sense… fitting in… settling down… until it creates a circle leading to the end.
The guarantee is that after all those, things become much more bearable and meaningful because I get to live twice and do life through the different me. Eventually, I survived it without making me neither too in love nor too indifferent because it forced me to choose my battles.
To those who helped me ink my first screenplay either by not giving a shit or by giving a part of you voluntarily or otherwise, thank you.
Thanks for the distraction. Inspiration. The lousy debates. Unneeded cigar breaks. Tickling sessions. Planning the out of town trips that never happened (we always have next week, right?) Music trippin. Artworks. Eating. Perpetual late coming. Singing through the bad times, keeping silence through the worse. Making memories in the car… I had fun even though shelling out the dough was just as hard as having a love life.
I proved that late night writing, ever-popular oftentimes doubted writers block, caffeine overload, eternal mood swings, anxiety attacks and instant fast food fascination are real and ever present. Those events were expected but there is always an after taste that I didn’t see coming. It is sometimes bad but often a discovery of me and of all these things, living and non-living and the spaces in between, around me.
It is surprising how one character can conveniently alter the structure of my world and then… watch another painfully destroy it. Those were heartaches.
There is also the possession… of things that are not real and so real. And the disappointment of losing them either by necessity or by perverted natural transition of things. No one warned me that it is more devastating to lose someone or something you never possessed.
The challenge to create something new… fresh… unexpected, whatever the fuck that means, out of a clean sheet of paper. These are the moments that make you want to walk the world upside down or use a filter on your eyes or do things inside out.
It brings out the most insane ideas especially when there are conflicts that can’t be resolved or loose ends that need to be tied in the interest of creating a seamless exploration of emotions and events. High after high and a low just deep. In the end, the insane starts making sense… fitting in… settling down… until it creates a circle leading to the end.
The guarantee is that after all those, things become much more bearable and meaningful because I get to live twice and do life through the different me. Eventually, I survived it without making me neither too in love nor too indifferent because it forced me to choose my battles.
To those who helped me ink my first screenplay either by not giving a shit or by giving a part of you voluntarily or otherwise, thank you.
Thanks for the distraction. Inspiration. The lousy debates. Unneeded cigar breaks. Tickling sessions. Planning the out of town trips that never happened (we always have next week, right?) Music trippin. Artworks. Eating. Perpetual late coming. Singing through the bad times, keeping silence through the worse. Making memories in the car… I had fun even though shelling out the dough was just as hard as having a love life.
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