When I started this blog a few months ago, I had a specific number of ideas/stories to write about. To be precise: 42 of them. Most of these ideas were things that had bugged me for more than 15 years, but I simply could not do it. I needed to work, and work hard, in order to make some kind of living. I spent a good number of years without vacation, thinking that, if I work hard, I will get to the point when I do not have to work anymore. In the mean time, the economic and political situations got worse, and all those stories I had foreseen long time ago became even more relevant.
Suddenly, I was at a crossroad: should I continue with my job, or should I write stories that will not bring me any monetary reward? Even worse, by not working I will spend my savings and lose potential earnings I could get from the usual day job.
However, the stories become very loud in my head, creating a somewhat divided personality in me. So, for the sake of maintaining mental peace, I decided to just let them out, hoping that, by doing it, I will regain the peace I once had.
By the time I was writing my 30th story, I had 80 more subjects to write about. Sometimes, while I am writing one story, I will get an additional three stories. It is literally like poking a beehive, and, for every bee you remove, there are three more that follow; three more that want to “protect” the bee you have just removed.
It is insane!
For writers, this is a beneficial thing; getting ideas is a good thing. More ideas means more writing and more writing means more money, right? But, I am not a writer — at least not a professional one. I just have those annoying ideas that buzz around in my brain. That is all. They get so annoying that I start obsessing about them.
In my case, more stories means less money, and as I am not working I even less money, by paying bills and editors to fix my crappy grammar skills and language abilities. If I haven’t mentioned earlier — English is not my first language.
If I am not getting paid for any of this, why I am doing it?
There is one benefit: when I forget that I am spending my savings, I must say that, with every story I write, I become more centred, more at peace with myself. For me, writing is not a struggle to express myself but a struggle to restore peace of mind, a relief from your own brain.
It is like having a conversation with the very patient friend, the friend who will actually understand what I am trying to say. It is like that difficult conversation we are trying to avoid for a very long time, being afraid of what may happen. When it happens, you realise that it was not such a big deal.
Every word I write makes me a bit happier.
Probably, most of those stories will never be read but that really does not matter. They popped into my mind like an unexpected guest. I welcomed them, instead trying to ignore them, and they are written now. They are out there in the wild, if not for everyone, then for my future self.
Someday, maybe in 5, 10, or 20 years from now, I will come back, read them all, and think how different person I was back then, when I was writing these stories. It is like having your own personal time machine.
I do not know if you keep any diary, but, for me when I read past stories, it is almost an out-of-this-world experience. Most of the time I cannot believe that I wrote some of those stories; it looks more like someone else was using my hands.
What about the end goal, to “get the all stories out”?
It has not been successful!
I have failed, and I have failed big time!
So, what will I do next? I do not know. Probably, I will write in a more relaxed manner, trying to write less and do more. Maybe it is time to accomplish some of the ideas I have and some of those I have mentioned here.
Maybe it is time to work on my own things, instead of working for someone else.
Writing posts, stories and ideas is not easy, it requires time, but definitely it is less time-consuming than bringing the ideas into reality. I must admit, ideas have the same problem as the stories: there are so many of them, and most of the time they are quite obsessive. So, maybe it is time to dedicate a bit of time and help them get out.
Yes, I know it will be difficult. Living in big city has its own challenges, but, sometimes, we all have to sacrifice something, in order to gain something better.
That being said, I wish you all the best for now, and let the real YOU find itself.
... That is the greatest gift you will ever find!