note: I’ve been preparing for an exam in the past few weeks, and as such I couldn’t get round to reading all my favourite blogs. But now that it’s done (I wrote it today) I’ll be slowly catching up.
Here’s to wishing you all a peaceful Easter break, in advance!
Before there was such a thing as social media, I wrote a two/three-page vent that went viral, in today’s terms. I was a teen, at a boarding school, when a schoolmate said something that vexed me.
Because I always preferred to write than talk, I took to paper and vomited my anger leaving skid marks that caused an eyesore.
This is NOT one of my proudest moments. I hope the “victim” eventually found in their hearts to forgive me. Because it took me years to forgive myself from that experience. In fact, it’s the same reason, I was afraid to write and I was sure writing was not for me.
To cut the long story short, I was being authentic with my feelings as I could be in my naive youth with freedom of speech, in a time and space (South Africa) where such a thing was for a privileged few.
The lesson learnt from that experience? Being authentic doesn’t mean being mean or let my feelings run rampage. It’s a lesson that has come in handy even today, with novel writing.
When I feel like strangling a character, I go out into the woods in search of solitude. A space, where I can breathe and clear my mind.
And all this was inspired by Rommy, who asks us to talk about a time when being authentically yourself made things interesting.
