I have always felt that we write best when we write about what we know. So here I sit, staring at the paper of a yellow legal pad, twiddling the blue pen between my fingers thinking just how much or how little I know.
I made the mistake of thinking I knew it all when I supposedly wrote my first novel. When I say novel I refer to the notepads full of romantic nonsense that I had pooled together with the help of all the Sweet Valley’s, Sweet Dreams and Love Stories I had read during my early years of idealistic puppy love. To Love, Loose and Find is what I had called it, all in all a story littered with plot inconsistencies and clichés.
The disastrous first effort certainly proved the point of writing what you know, as I knew nothing of romance but only of the fabrications of others that I had read. But along the way I learnt that I truly enjoyed writing. It was not a question of good or bad, success or failure; I loved to write whether it was a term paper or an email, a poem or short story. Putting pen to paper, yes I believe in pen and paper, the computer screen does nothing to inspire me; and allowing the words, thoughts and feelings, opinions and statements to just tumble out, it is freeing.
Today, a few days shy of turning twenty four, fresh out of college, married and unemployed; I still sit and wonder how much more I have yet to know. I am no expert on anything then what could I possibly have to write that others may want to read? What could I possibly narrate that others haven’t heard before?