When I took this job last September, I stopped writing. And
I miss that. When I was jobless, I had all the time in the world to sit down in
front of the laptop, and conjure words from nowhere. My creative juices weren’t
failing me. But the moment I sat down on that desk job, seems like the words
just won’t come to me anymore. It’s not just the fact that I travel miles to go
to work and to go back home that I did not have time to sit down in front of
the computer and write. I tried. I even tried saving some words on my mobile
phone while I’m on the road to work or home. But it just wasn’t there. The
words seem to have left me and the inspiration to write seems to have left my
soul. Ever since I was a kid, if there’s one thing I’m sure of, is that I want
to be a published writer. Not the kind you see in movies who writes in coffee
shops, looking at people and observing them while sipping a hot cup of
Americano, and living a happy uncomplicated life. That’s not what I envisioned
myself as a writer. I envisioned myself locking myself up in my room, all day
typing the words and re-typing them, deleting words that don’t fit in, writing
until it hurts and no longer a delight, and editing until my eyes hurt from
looking at some of the errors I have made, emerging only when I have finished a
brainchild.
But that never happened. Yes, I’ve had my fair share of
writing for school publications from grade school to college, writing for
company websites and blogging on my own website, I have never really finished a
book. And that is what I have always wanted to do. Finish a book. Any kind of
book. A novel, a semi-autobiographical piece, a fictional piece that revolves
around a certain person I know. Any kind. But I want to be able to publish a
book. I’ve tried. I’ve started writing a manuscript. And it revolves around a
huge chunk of my life. Someone once said that the richest resource a writer has
is his own life. With the numerous heartaches I’ve got throughout the years
I’ve had relationships with the opposite sex, I thought I had all the resources
I need. But it wasn’t easy writing about men who might be hurt by the things I
have to say about them even if I hide their identity under fictional
characters. I envy an ex-suitor of mine who has already published two books, and
one of them has pieces about me. I wasn’t mad. I did not become mad. Because I
know that there won’t be a soul who will know that he was writing about me,
unless they know of our story.
Now, I have no excuse for not continuing the manuscript I have started because I have already resigned from that job. And while my husband is at my side, sound asleep and snoring, I found myself opening a word document to type my thoughts away. Mind you, I have just finished an episode of Pretty Little Liars, a show I am a bit addicted to, but at four in the morning, my mind is still wandering. Wondering if I still have the capabilities to finish what I started. Here I am, a newlywed 25-year old lady, munching on some snacks to keep me from getting hungry while contemplating if I should continue the story I have started to write, or write another one. Ever since that rejection from a major magazine company, I have lost confidence in my ability to write. Though my two biggest fans, my mom and my husband, say I am good at writing and they know I will get published someday, I’m seriously starting to doubt that. It doesn’t help my confidence at all to be rejected four times in the past 3 years by the same major magazine for all the positions I applied for. I’m not hoping to be a Laida Magtalas who got a job as an editorial assistant and bagged the heart of his boss as the major grand prize (and plot of the movie). I’m just hoping to be able to write and be published by starting from the lowest position in any publication group. But Lady Luck was not on my side. At least not yet, I hope.
A few commendations on a short piece I posted on my Facebook
wall about Tim Duncan brought in some much needed push to bring out my writing
pen again and start letting the words flow in. The Spurs Nation fan page even
commended it as a well written post.
So, should I try to finish this manuscript I have been
putting on hold for quite some time now? The thought of it being finished makes
me nervous. What if, it gets finished but gets rejected by publishers? What if,
no publishing house in the country would accept it? What if, some really good
writers I admire tell me it is full of rubbish? What if.
Every time I try to finish it, I get scared. Blame my lack
of confidence on my writing skills on someone who once told me I’m not good in writing. And maybe I never really got over that blow. It is always at the back
of my head every time I try to add more pages to the work I have started. Then
whenever I get scared, I remind myself of this scene from one of my favorite TV
shows from the US, Criminal Minds. It was from their Pilot episode entitled
Extreme Aggressor. On that particular scene, one of the members of the BAU
(Behavioral Analysis Unit) needs to crack a password for the UnSub’s laptop.
UnSub is their term for Unknown Subject, a suspect or unknown criminal that
they are looking for. If they don’t get to crack the password, they might never
find the missing girl. The BAU member, Derek Morgan, only has a few tries left.
Their unit chief, Jason Gideon, tries to motivate him.
“Jason Gideon: Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
Dr. Spencer Reid: Samuel Beckett.
Derek Morgan: Try not. Do or do not.
Dr. Spencer Reid: Yoda.”
Fail again. Fail better. Some of us have tried and failed.
Some have tried again and have failed again. But have we failed better? Have I failed better?
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P.S. As of writing this, my manuscript still remains
untouched. But tomorrow, or should I say later because it’s now 3:53 AM, as
soon as I wake up I will continue writing my manuscript. Everyone who believes
in my work and have said praises about it have given me the much needed boost
to continue. Thank you. J
