Every so often, I take up a blank document and agree with my brain’s demands to pen some prose. See, I’ve gotten too comfortable by staring at blank documents, transforming these into written, wanna-be poems; leaving the discovering of the subject in the act of writing, itself. “This doesn’t work with prose”, I hear the outspoken, inner-voice of Rizwana The Self-Critic.
“..you gotta know what you wanna write about first, dummy”, it says without much a presence of any manners.
I am reminded of a time I set out to write ‘quotes’. As a kid, I would read all these amazing words (having searched for, for e.g., “Quotes on Time” , “ Quotes on Home” etc.), and think these were written by Quote Writers. Great authors who sat down perfecting their craft into quote-sized writings. A genre unlike any other!
Rizwana The Self-Critic was cool with it/back then.
Frankly, it was running into a blog post in which Someone Wonderful advised writing more blog posts that jolted my brain into doing this. Someone Wonderful writes words that are wonderful.
Of course, I wanted to be able to do the same.
Only how do I say things, clearly?
I began this sentence comparing Clarity to chasing after the horizon. You understand why I had to erase that sentence. I can’t even describe Clarity without muddling it up with an elaborate picture of the horizon in a county with palm trees. Is this what you were promised, Reader?
Is this the kind of empty blog posts you had advised, Someone Wonderful?
Why are there so many questions?
This fills just about half of my blank document. My brain at this point regrets this, entirely. Rizwana The Self-Critic consoles me, certain no one will read this. More surely so, if I bin this.
I am reminded of a time in the future I might look back to this (maybe, Clarity, then, would be as simple as a giggle).
Every so often, prose is the passerby in close quarters.
I’m sorry, brain, I tried. I really did.