I am a bemused writer.
Often just bemused because I am a writer.
And now a bemused blogger too [thanks, or no thanks, to my writing group].
How has this all come about? And from a person that really doesn’t like to write! That has been known to declare emphatically that I hate it!
I’ve come around, at least somewhat, and no longer use that word to describe my feelings about writing. I still will probably never use the word love to describe it, as I’ve heard from other writers. But I’ve come to realize that hate really is too strong a statement, or so complex an issue I’ve not really written even to myself. Since I’ve always written in some form, usually little poems or thoughts I call snippets [which I might include some day]. It’s always just been a part of what I do, scribbling on whatever surface is handy at the time to get the thought down, having learned from Hard experience if I don’t get the brilliance down right when it comes it often never shines so brightly again. I’ve discovered just as those that haunt the physical finds of yesteryear that most times all the polishing in the world will never restore it to what it was originally.
Perhaps I have come to more of an acceptance of the pain and frustration that is a part of writing. A part of the pain and frustration of writing that is the racking of brains, and sometimes the dictionaries and whoever/whatever is handy, for the perfect words to perfectly convey what those yammering characters are trying to get me to write down for them. Or just adequately get out, depending on the ever growing skills I hope I am accumulating as a writer. And trying to master the skill of the imagination truce with all the varied and loud, insistent characters always roaming and clopping through my imagination at all times. Or maybe they have just all worn me down enough to do their bidding, at least on the page. And caused me to begin to accept my fate in life as a writer.
Oh I know people have wondered about my reluctance as a writer. Bemused people for a bemused writer. Perhaps things will all become clear for all of us someday. Or at least clearer.
[So, what are you bemused by? And what are you waiting to see clearer? Are they one and the same?