There is this tiny creature that has inhabited my sometimes
boring disposition, my chaotic mind, my subtle heart, my steady fingers (yet in
other aspects have lost dexterity).
This tiny creature has dwelt in me since I have made connections
with that thing called BALLPOINT PEN. But wait, don’t get too excited and raise
your expectation meter up to levels I can’t keep up. I know, what you’re
thinking….
…..I’m not that kind of writer…
I write. I write only to express what I feel. I write at times
because I have to. When I write, there is always this struggle of lengthening
the piece. So I thought, writing ain’t my thing.
The recent circumstances pushed me to a much greater length to
where I am right now. I thought, I am a writer. Just not the lengthy type.
Maybe this explains my inclination to poetry and my utmost dislike to novels.
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against novels. It’s just me. I have issues
with lengthy pieces except when they are illustrated or videographed. Maybe
because I am spatial.
The worst thing about me is I AM NOT A WIDE READER. Well, I
wouldn’t say I don’t read. As a matter of fact, I do. However, my type of
reading materials is terribly narrow. Mainly because I don’t read if the
material doesn’t have pictures or illustrations. I don’t read if the material
is too lengthy because I get information overload. I get bored.
My suspicion is that maybe, just maybe, my brain is designed
that way.
I am a writer. Just not the lengthy type.
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