Idea(s),
Sometimes my mind can conjure up nothing but hatred towards you, its own lack of creativity. Smothering seeds and stomping on flowers that it created itself. Smothering you.
It leaves me sitting blank-faced, frozen fingered for Seconds, Minutes, Hours- until, eventually, I take a seat on the side of the path. I close my eyes, plug my nose, and scream- I take myself as far away from the desolate garden as I possibly can.
Sometimes there are so many of you to choose from, even just sifting through you seems too effortful an endeavour.
I can’t help but get lost in your details, your mysteriousity as you break off one another, catching the wind to fly to your new home, to establish your own roots from which you can grow.
I’m sorry, but so many of you don’t seem worthy of much attention- not water nor sunlight. While some linger in corners of my mind for Hours, Days, Weeks, Years- feeding off me, sometimes without my permission.
Often times, the most troubling of you linger longer than you are welcome- like overgrown, stubborn weeds, while your friends slip away without much notice (even as I eagerly fumble to facilitate their growth), like petals in the wind. Perhaps I drowned them with the same water I’d hoped would help them grow. Perhaps the sunlight I shone them upon felt less like a spotlight and more like a fire- searing, obliterating their existence.
I finally choose, or settle, upon one of you. Sometimes, those of you that I didn’t pick (I’m sorry, by the way) take your opportunity at revenge. You hex me to experience the same feelings of inadequacy I bestowed upon you. You make it difficult to plant anything new in the same soil from which you grew, claiming it as your own- marking your territory. Dancing on the ashes of your fallen friends, you spread your roots. Mocking me.
(Just remember- picked flowers die as soon as they are chosen, their memory nothing but a desperate attempt to encapsulate how beautiful they once were. You, YOU still have a chance. Gardens have many visitors, you may be the next to be picked.)
My words,
As I plant seed after seed, around the picking-site of the original flower, I pray that the soil be kind enough as to provide a home for them. For if the foundation is inadequate or unsuited, how can anything thrive?
Most Times, nothing takes. Fields are barren. That beautiful little flower is never to be seen again. It is remembered only when accompanying feelings of inadequacy and disappointment. Another one of my attempts falls into futility as I fail to foster growth in a field full of weeds and ashes.
but…
Some Times, a forest thrives in the place only an assortment of flowers struggled too survive. As I plant new trees and polish the leaves of the old, I am proud of what I have created. Nowhere can I see the remains of my failed endeavours. I am thankful to have created a world that, to me at least, is worth visiting. Finally, something- lacking perfection, but not potential.
Dear reader,
Aren’t you the one who decides whether or not my words are worth anything?
A stranger walking, running, trudging through the forest I built.
Walking through each narrow pathway climbing trees, cutting them down and- sometimes- planting new ones.
This walk of yours will leave behind footprints, noticeable ones if you so choose.
Any traveller who dares to follow your footsteps will be judging not only my creation but also analysing your interpretation.
I hope you find the spot from which I tore that root. I hope you understand why I did so. And I hope you agree with me or even convince me, that it was worth it.
Whether or not this forest thrives is entirely in your hands. I’m vulnerable, you could break branches, cut trees, and trample flowers. OR you could admire the view, maybe even add your own embellishments. What becomes of my creation next, is entirely up to you.
Lastly, I ask that you tread lightly, be gentle, be kind. Keep your eyes ears and mind open. Open to experiencing my world, maybe even forgetting yours for a short while.
Dear reader, I hope you enjoy your stay, even though I know not how to write.
A little clarification:
This piece, honestly, took me SO long to conceptualise. I found myself not having the correct words-or, not enough words- to truly represent what I was thinking. As I wrote each line, I found myself doubting that this piece would ever be shared. I kept thinking that nobody would want to read such a …weird? piece. Let alone enjoy it. It took me a very long time to accept my ideas and deem them worthy of your consumption. I hope you agree with me. After reading it, I bet you’re a little confused by some aspects of it. Don’t worry, hopefully, the following paragraphs answer some of your questions.
As you read the piece, each grammatical and syntax inaccuracy probably had you cringing. As someone who “you’re*”s people all the time, I completely understand how this may have been irritating. I did this intentionally, hoping to draw a connection between my structure and subject matter. To strengthen the point I make in this piece, I decided, stylistically, to adopt a format that is… well… incorrect. PROVING, “I Know Not How To Write”.
The “steps” were meant to depict branching off//building upon the previous idea, mirroring the metaphor that I chose to thread throughout this piece. The forest was meant to depict my written world as a whole, while the trees, branches, and flowers were meant to depict my added details. The soil was chosen to be representative of the foundational aspects of writing (such as research, planning and world building), and the water and sunlight were chosen to symbolise the time and energy that fostering or forgetting ideas can take. Metaphorically representing my ideas is a stylistic choice I have rarely employed in the past; this being a free choice piece, I thought this would be my best chance to give it a shot and receive some meaningful feedback.
As a very novice writer, I would greatly appreciate any comments or critiques you have to offer- like I said, YOU are the one these words are meant for, feel free to be completely honest about their quality.
GIPHY. “Tree GIF – Find & Share on GIPHY.” GIPHY, GIPHY, 24 Jan. 2017, giphy.com/gifs/tree-vUnF0lCAxNS4E.
Dear Kanchan,
This rarely happens, but I literally have no “to work ons” for this piece. And this is coming from a very picky gal. The only thing I would disagree with is the fact that you call yourself a “novice” writer because your writing does not come across as being amateur whatsoever.
That being said, allow me, then, to describe to you the things I especially appreciated about “I Know Not How to Write”.
First of all, I’d like to commend your utilization of irony, which is represented by both your spelling “errors” as well as the fact that it was a lack of creativity–or at least the premise of such– that inspired you to write this piece in this first place
Not only that, but I felt as though you also brought forth a new perspective in regards to what I perceived to be writer’s block: “Sometimes there are so many of you to choose from, even just sifting through you seems too effortful an endeavour. I can’t help but get lost in your details, your mysteriousity as you break off one another, catching the wind to fly to your new home, to establish your own roots from which you can grow.” Or in other words, at least according to my own interpretation, sometimes too much thought/too many ideas can act as an inhibition to creativity, because we become overwhelmed and cannot, as a result, effectively process/create.
Oh! And my favourite line was “Just remember- picked flowers die as soon as they are chosen..” Not only is this idea brilliant in the context in which it is written, but it is also something that holds true in regards to how innately inconsiderate and selfish most people are; that is, once they have gotten what they want from you–long after they have “chosen” you and you have fulfilled your purpose–, they discard you, much like a flower is “discarded” by death once it has been picked. I am not sure if such an insight was intentional on your part, but, as you said yourself, “…you could admire the view, maybe even add your own embellishments.” Consider this to be an “embellishment” on my part. 😉
Really, though, Kanchan, I am so very impressed with this piece. I wouldn’t call it “weird”, as you might. But I WOULD call it abstract. Yet, it is not so abstract that your readers become frustrated due to a lack of clarity; on the contrary, it is just abstract enough to challenge your readers intellectually and to broaden their perspectives.
Bravo!
Never stop writing,
Jade
Jade,
Wow, I’m so happy to hear that you enjoyed this piece. Coming from a writer as talented as you, that truly means a lot!
Your interpretations mirror my intentions perfectly. It’s so comforting to know that my words come across as they are meant to.
Often I struggle with finding that middle ground between overly convoluted and simple. I’m glad this piece was neither and came across as something different altogether.
Thank you so much for going into such depth with your feedback, your time and effort are much appreciated.
Kanchan