Given the astounding response I ha to my last post (sarcasm detected), I decided to write you something for Easter.
Just kidding! This is completely unrelated to Easter. It’s just the timing of posting. Enjoy your chocolate 🙂
Think of poison. You don’t even know you’ve been struck until it’s too late. And then comes the pain. A burning fire spreads through you like a prickly blanket of nettles, clawing at you like an untameable beast before that final moment when it stops. You realise that Death’s cold, clammy hands are crawling over you, about to steal you, and as you finally accept the inevitable, you feel a flicker of the greatest euphoria you’ve ever known the moment that you die. Now imagine that all of these twisted felings can be felt within a split second.
That is the curse of the imagination. Like Prometheus and the Eagle, by the time you recover from the shock of imagination, it comes at you again, battering at you relentlessly, until finally, you have to give in and put pen to paper. That is the daily occurernce that goes on in the mind of a writer.
It’s like a wave that washes over you repeatedly. The first time is heart-stopping: cold, biting and overwhelming. But then you get used to it. You get used to the tingle that shudders down your back when you get a new idea, the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when you think of a character, the stone that drops to your feet when you write that first sentence.
However there will always be times when it hits you again. It occupys your mind costantally like a teenage lover, and you know, you just know, that it’s the one. That it’s your greatest work. That soon, the world will be screaming your name. You will be on shelves beside J.K Rowling and Agatha Christie. You will be remembered with Shakespeare and Charles Dickens.
And with that finality, you set to work. Day in, day out, until you’re finished. Then when you do, you feel empty. Now what?
Well, the poison strikes again. And the ruthless cycle that your imagination has unwillingly sucked you into repeats itself again and again and again. And you, as the writer, not only embrace it, but you consume it: because you know in the depths of your heart that the day you lose this feeling, leave this cycle, is the day you die.
And you love it.
Opinions welcome. No, opinions encouraged, mandatory even.
– The Empress