A Painkiller Too...
We never really finish a book. How is there truly “the end” when the words tug at our imagination, creates consciousness and spring up ideas from generations to generations. If we had a shot at immortalising, it would stem from the powerful use of language units.
Of course, that was not my thought when I started writing at 8; it was a more simple formula. It was something like:
Do I love reading? Yes; Do I love writing? Yes; Could I be famous from the latter? Most definitely! The fastest way in my 8 years old mind was through songwriting.
About a year later, there was a paradigm shift from fame to wealth. And so, I wrote all manner of fictional stories and sold them to my mates ranging from N20 to N50. The N50 ones were usually the A4 papers stapled together in the middle and folded with carefully written titles and a cockeyed effort at book cover design. I have no idea how there were actual buyers.
I was introverted and constantly down in the dumps. I was angry at my weak and failing relationships both at home and in school. I was often out of place and teased at the slightest chance. Listless I became, especially when most attempts at opening up were superficialised. Writing was one thing that consistently made me at peace, but the happy ending stories and the gleeful songs seemed like gypping. After all, it came from someone down in the mouth. I had always known writing was a beautiful thing but who knew it could be a painkiller too.
And so I tried it. I wrote about the sadness, which birthed my first poem, and honestly, it was never the same. How could pain look so endearing? I felt like I had some power to make something beautiful out of the worst parts of me. Each low moment I had after that was gifted with a poem. Now, it’s bigger than that. I’m inspired by every moment both high and low, my experiences and that of others. And if poetry moves anyone else the way it did and still does to me, my devotion is to gift it.
It’s sometimes abstract to explain why you write and people are not convinced it’s simply because it suddenly arose as a childhood (or later) passion. Agreeably, a writer’s reason must go far deeper. While the healing, financial abundance, and recognition seeking writer is still there somewhere, the zenith of it all is; I write to stir up, and I write to stir away. If my writing can stir up creativity, hope, awareness et al. or even if in the smallest of ways, stirs away negativity, I’d be the writer ever walking on air.
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