About Writing

I am writing this mainly to reconnect in a new way with an old version of myself. This old version was perhaps naive, but by that virtue it was also freer and less cautious, and so could actually finish writing a story it really wanted to tell. But there was a problem with this old self — it only wanted to tell stories in their rawest form, never really caring about revisiting and polishing what was once there on the paper. It was a fast way to get the half-baked ideas out there, which is not a problem per se unless you also want others to eat what you have been cooking. Unfortunately, this old version of me was hungry to feed the world with the unripe morsels it could force out; only the world already has the finest, unique, delicious variety of dishes available to it, and hardly even looks at the feast of words, let alone the seeds that are not even soaked and sown for long enough. Nobody wants to be afflicted with word vomit and diarrhea, really.

But what is it that the latest version of the self wants from the old, naive, amateur? The audacity, basically. The audacity to believe that what I have to say matters, and even if it is unfit for the consumption of the masses, I still need to get it out of my system with the little hope that at some point I will accept the hard work of seeing the words coming from me with detached eyes, so as to improve and make it edible for at least a different version of myself.