AND SO IT BEGINS…
There are any number of brilliant and quotable men and women who have sat at their medium of choice and searched their inner selves for the perfect opening words with which to break the ice. Luckily for me, I am under no illusion that anyone will ever read this beyond those few I beg for opinions, so I am freed from the constraint of needing to be either brilliant or quotable.
I have considered it is this constraint that fetters people in the beginning of their writing careers. The idea of being a writer forms in your mind and though you attempt to temper the idea with sharp, and harsh doses of reality, one is soon dreaming of fame or infamy. Despite your doubts, it takes shape. The desk where you will do your writing. The cafe where you will sit and sort through notes. The beginnings of ideas of which to write about. Then one takes the leap; it is time for the world to hear your voice. You write your first few timid lines.
And they’re shit, so you delete them immediately.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”— Earnest Hemmingway
I’ve fallen victim to this many times. I open the faded yellow pages of my Moleskine notepad, the kind that Picasso apparently scribbled on, my face assumes a studious look, I open my mind to the world and wait for Hemmingway to vomit onto the page in all his wonderful brilliance. Instead I complete an essay, seemingly written by the 15 year old version of myself in which I describe my subject in simple, concise and exceptionally boring text. And that explains why my notebook is missing so many pages.
So to hell with that. With quotes I found on the internet inspiring me, I will push on. Today is the 29th of February. A leap year. Let’s hope it brings me luck, though I would prefer it brought me intelligence and laughter.