strangelyseen asked: Unbelievable. I just read through a few of your things, and I think you’re a great writer. But I’m just a simple bystander. Where do you get your inspiration from?
^_^ I will have to learn how to take compliments someday!
Sorry but I’m a ‘simple bystander’ my self, and I don’t really know yet my self! In the beginning it was out of anger or depression. In those states ideas would simply flow, and I even found my self wanting in the end to be in such conditions just so I could write. After that it was from dreams. I don’t often remember my dreams but when I do, even for me, they can be a bit crazy; which incidentally makes me so happy!
I love the entire vibe of being consumed by a story, that is in fact conceiving it’s self through me! And now that I have fallen in love, for what feels like the first time, (I know right, pray for me) I find that when ever one of my senses seize a fraction of her being, or simply imagine such, I find my self helplessly falling into the way of the pen, often sadly in fuzzy wuzzy ways.
And this is just what I mean by saying I’m a ‘simple bystander’ to. I have no method, no stable pattern, no insight like others who can wield the pen at will. I am chaos! I ride the mood and reflect it’s grace in ink. Hahaha Or maybe ‘CHAOS’ it’s self is my method of choice! LoL
The best way to say it is like this. Something I once wrote in realization, “I never realized it, but it seems everyone of my ideas for a story first starts with an image, a single glimpse through a distant smoke that conceals all but a corner of some great piece of work, desperately in need of a mind foolish enough to conceive it.” – A. N. De Berry
I hope that helped, and I apologize greatly for rambling for so long! If your interested, I’ve just started a writers community blog and facebook page, where I hope to bring together as many ‘simple bystanders’ as possible and together, become something far from simple! It’s called “Frantic Ink.”
To call my self a writer is like calling a man who doodles, an accomplished artist! But EVERYONE, no matter who, has started out just the same. With some horrible itch, sharp and heavy on their shoulders, only curable by the rapid succession of word after word. And now it’s become so acute that it has literally become my only grievance in life! I don’t care if I sell it, I don’t care if people read it, I just want it out of me and on paper because it feels such a horrible sin to do otherwise! I think there’s nothing better then the right words, elegantly placed and perfectly timed! To love something so much and yet feel so defeated by it at every glance, it’s heart breaking yet I wish it my only salvation. . . I am a man brimming, whose own relief of burden lies solely within the fathoms of his own spring. Maddening it is to be the fool who wallows ill, while cure waits beyond all reach; lovingly between fingers. . . We need, must, and have to write, and so we are WRITERS!