I watch and I see. I watch every single moment. Not trapped, nor awake, but merely undefined in reason, indiscriminate of either conscious or subconscious thought. Do I partake in either of these thoughts? I do not know.
All I know, is that during these moments of intellectual intake, I feel almost pensive, while talking in complete abandon of no actual coherency. I feel as if cryptic words, portrayed through black spaces in my mind, reflect upon events in defining aspects of my life, are floating through the nether space that is my brain.
And in these brief moments of clarity, I feel the need to do. I feel the need when seeing other people doing that which I hold important to my person. I feel as if I must partake in this instance. Jealousy is common, however I realize whether drive by jealousy or anger it matters not, the end result is the coherent understanding that their stories are completely different to my own. And in that understanding, I can conclude that in these moments, I understand what it is I shall accomplish.
Perhaps not right away, because I must still experience what is needed to be able to write from a perspective view given and in fact driven through personal experience, which I found is much more connecting, than made up effigies that feel almost flawed in description and effect.
Do I believe everything I write must be first hand experience? No that would be delusional, an irrational consensus to pertain to the fact that we cannot do everything and anything we want. However, I do believe that given the choice between experience, and make believe: Experience shall always hold more weight.
My story shall not be rushed nor shall it be stagnant. I must merely stop focusing on the block at that particular moment and define other moments. Write parts that shall occur, that may be changed and altered, but at least are given the general instance of said chance, and happenings, and in the future shall partake in that specific instance. I shall continue to learn and experience and relate said events to my writings.
However I must not squander my time, and not write, for it does gnaw at me so a pipe dream. Never given the necessary credit it deserves. Described instrument is like a mistress, treat her well and she shall treat you well back. Neglect her, and feel her wrath.
Define the characters within the time frame and level out where it is you want them to begin, journey towards and the paths they shall take. I do not want this to be morally cliched, however I do want it to be family orientated. For my mind is still slanted towards immaturity, not in the irreverent sense, but rather the fondest belief that the world is a good place and in so I shall reflect said events in my book.
Not to say without hardships, shall the protagonist progress, however neither shall it have mature aspects I find distasteful and unnecessary, unless used to show why they character is driven by the events that are written for them. I write this late to bring some clarity to my mind, which has been clouded of late. It is nice to just bleach the canvas with words so rarely used. Whether through necessity or stupidity. We have forgotten or cannot express words in the way in which I have used them now. Perhaps that is just how I am, perhaps not?
On shall my adventure continue, through the name of a dream I have not yet completely considered thoroughly. Perhaps soon it shall be defined and Nova shall rise and so shall the beginning of an epic journey be spun, around the minds and dreams of the world so richly deserving of a little Drosvian hope.