When a writer writes
He tells two tales
One he writes to entertain
One he writes for other’s sake
Yet a second tale he tells
Not by his hand does he say
But by the words he chooses
Does he tell this tale
Where one he writes by hand
And is for the masses to read
The other is read
By those who can see
For the second tale is written
As a window to the writer’s mind
To see the heart and soul of him
Who pens the words
A blank pag lies before the writer’s hands
His eyes flicker back and forth
Words are whispered from his mouth
A world unfolds in his mind
Of distant lands and great battles
Deadly villains and terrible lost
Victory won and triumphs gained
Friends’ death and darkness touch
And tales are wove
Yet only one story is told
By the writer’s hands
Last Wednesday I was flipping through Facebook and looking at several steampunk artworks and was amazed by them. It made me wonder about all the worlds that have been written and drawn. I wished I could be like them, writing amazing worlds and drawing images for them.
But then I thought, why not?
Immediately my mind came up with counters: you are in your mid-twenties and far too old. People who are skilled in this have been working for multiple years. If you were really passionate about this, then you would have been working at it since you were a little child.
But this is what I realized.
If I want to become a writer then I must write. If I want to be a artist then I must draw. Both requires practice but age is not a factor. The only thing stopping from moving forward is accepting that it is too late to become skilled at something.
Recently I told a friend that I was “a jack of all trade and a master of none”. It made me sad but I thought that is what I could be. This is a lie. I could become a master but it requires the investment of time, dedication, and a willingness to keep learning.
This means saying no to watching television or gaming. This means keeping a little book on me to write down ideas and doodle sketches.
But I think it is worth taking the chance.
Some people would ask “what if you fail?” or “what if you don’t succeed?” And they would be correct but as a dear friend once said, if it’s worth the risk then you will chase it. And I am going to chase it.
I don’t know if I’ll succeed or if I’ll fail but there is only one way to find out. By doing it.
To be filled with joy
To be filled with peace
Yet not be able to write
When rage and sorrow
Well up within the soul
The words flow with ease
When lost in thought
When the spirit is heavy
Is it easy to write
Is it the curse of the poet?
Or is it the change in heart?
Will the darkness fade
Before the light of day?
Or will the pen become still
And the writer no longer write?
They stand when you wish them to sit
They sit when you wish them to stand
They speak when you wish them to be silent
They are silent when you wish them to speak
They rise when you want them to fall
They fall when you want them to rise
They are the characters of writers
They are the children of writers