Two days ago my brother and sister told me I should write again and publish it online. The remembered the first and last book I wrote entitled “Spirit of The Coin”. The story I wrote when I was fifteen, in 2 full notebooks. Notebooks I last saw after a strong storm, all wet and unreadable.
Story I put my full imagination, not even knowing Stephen King then, all gone because of a roof leak.
That day I promised not to write again. I had almost a year of effort wasted by just one event.
Today as I clean up my room and stack a whole bunch of books yet to read, I realized I have forbade myself long enough. I kept my imagination shut and let the books feed me from other people’s imagination.
I don’t mean that it’s bad to read, or to read too much. But I felt afraid that a day may come and I will be force to write out of my own mind, only to realize I am writing the same plot as a story I’ve read or the same twist as my favorite authors.
I’m afraid that the child who makes stories before learning to count will just sit in the corner and stare blankly.
I’ve forgotten my advocacy, to speak out.
I’ve been sharing stories and experiences, mistakes to learn from and memories to hold. But I forgot to wake the other side,not only to escape reality but to produce ideas that will help me and my readers to deal with life, whatever definition it may be.
And so,I will speak. It will be awakened.
You will never expect it. You will never get enough.
It will be awesome.