The Thing About Me, when it comes to writing, is that my brain is a browser with hundreds of tabs open. Not an original metaphor but a very true one (shout out to whoever thought it first, you knew what the deal was!). Understandably, this chaos makes me run slow sometimes. I sometimes feel like I’m in the lowest part of a valley and can’t gain enough momentum to climb/run out. I feel like I need to write, but I cannot transform this ink into words.
There are maybe about ten things I planned to write a post about on here, and half of them are things that I’ve decided “maybe we shouldn’t.”. The other half have the potential to be worthwhile reads for y’all, but I haven’t gotten around to articulating them. A lot of the time ideas come to me in short bursts, in small quirky one-to-two liners, that if I ever had the chance to compile a book of the small thoughts I have (and if anybody wanted to read that crap), they would be useful.
Never trust men named Bill.
Pretoria is, like, to Venda people, what Atlanta must be to Africans.
Shit like the above are things I don’t mind saying out loud, but they are useless and amount to nothing.
About my writing behavioural patterns, I’ve figured it out. Writing keeps me afloat. I am a fractured person, I can fall apart when even I least expect it, but literature, writing and music forms a super trifecta adhesive that keeps me together. Without those things, I wouldn’t have much hope for anything. Listening to my favourite songs — even if it would’ve been the tenth time that day I’ve listened to Daydreaming (Virtu Remix) by RKCB (dope song, you might should check it out) — does a good number on my mood, for a short while. I can forget about what’s bothering me. There are times when I’m in such a funk that even indulging in the hardest of dubstep glory (bass and all) cannot fix, though. But such is life.
Back to my writing: it’s an important part of my identity. I don’t go around telling people that I write. If it finds its way into a conversation, I let them know. If they want to read my stuff, I give the people what they want. It’s usually a positive response. Aside from reading, listening to music, walking and doing some type of chore, a lot of my time is spent writing something. Anything. Writing things that I think I can expand on later, songs, stories that never end up being finished, and stories I try to drag on but would’ve worked better as short stories. I do the most for literature (and, one day, for the culture). I want to do this shit for a living, like the people whose blogs I like to read. I want to have a book deal one day, possibly even have a web-series because I’m not entirely camera-shy.
I want to contribute something to the South African writersphere, something a leedle different that doesn’t go over the heads of the youth. If I must be bold and idealistic, I would like to eradicate illiteracy in South Africa, make it cool to read. Believe it, teenagers really be out here in my country not picking up books unless they’re in English class. “Reading for fun” does not exist, except for young, erudite professionals, my family and the thirty-to-middle-aged who need to flex their astuteness (ain’t nun wrong). I cannot describe my writing style, but if I work hard at this for much longer, maybe I can and then people will know when they see a Bossadi piece.
That’s what I’m trying to get to. Until then, I’ll slay this internship as it goes then use the experience to get a job in PR. Then be as formidable as Farah Fortune, who knows? It’s possible, Black child.
Anyway. I’ve never finished a writing project but a song. A song is easy to write, well the lyrics are, I can’t play an instrument for shit so I’ll leave the sheet music and production to a nigga who knows. But a story? Nah. I’m not there yet. It’s because I get distracted with other ideas while I’m still working on bridging the gap with the current one. I’ve tried to plan to make sure I don’t lose my way but it doesn’t help because I won’t follow the script. I’ll take it another way and then get lost anyway. Right now, I’m trying the “Write As It Comes” approach, and I have 14 chapters. But I am stuck now.
And already two weeks ago, I had an idea for a short story I could try while I wait for this big one to get back on track (not a good idea); I haven’t even written a chapter for that one. And then, because I like to act against my best interests, I am writing another new story, something that has been spurned by what’s transpiring in my workplace (it’s not a literary knock off of The Office, I promise). It’s going alright — like it always does in the beginning — and I’m wondering long it will be before I give up and return to the main project. I kind of hope I don’t; this one has potential and is different from the main project.
Yesterday I was in a bit of a slump, I couldn’t bring myself to focus at work, hard as I tried. Today is a different story. The piece I need to write for our division has no deadline but it needs to be done preferably this week, and the creativity came through. Now to see what tomorrow brings. I believe it’s because I’ve gotten some writing done (the not-a-The-Office-literary-knockoff story). Writing this post right here is helping too.
Once I’ve written something, I feel better and my head feels cleaned out. I don’t believe my job is done, no no, but I feel like I’m closer to that and my brain is not getting trampled by all these ideas shouting “Pick me! Pick me!”.
Like the act of dreaming, writing serves as a cleanup crew for my brain and soul. It helps me focus. Because I really do feel guilty if I leave something unwritten for weeks. To who? Nobody knows/cares that I’m writing this, this is for me. I feel guilty toward myself, that this could be the thing that may create my son’s trust fund (because this internship sure as hell ain’t). It’s a lot of pressure to put on myself, and I know better than to only see myself as a writer if I’m writing things. I’m still one even if I haven’t picked up a pen except to sign after making a debit card purchase.
I’m just gonna keep on working on my portfolio of Reams of Words (a more accurate way of describing my writing), and even if it take two decades, finding a residence on a shelf (preferably near the front) in Exclusive Books, WHSmiths, Dymocks, CNA and Amazon.com is the dream.