Over the past few months I have been pressured to write blurbs about my book, about me as an author and while I can voraciously pen down descriptions and my views on life, I falter.
My blurb is weak, my description of my self, uninviting. This has got me to question myself, even doubt my talent for being a writer. I mean, if you can not put the pen to paper on any topic, are you really worthy of the mantle of an author?
So I sat down to jot down my story and I realized I couldn’t because:
a) It isn’t over.
b) How do I tell people what I do when they can see it for themselves in my works?
c) There isn’t one particular thing that I have that makes me an author. It’s everything around me. I am the voice of the unheard, the narrative of the faceless multitude, the detail that is lost in the crowd….
Most importantly my story doesn’t need to be told, the stories I have to tell needs to be heard. So what do I do? I write in an attempt to tell the stories of the fallen, the confused, the valiant and the most importantly the coward. In my stories, the hero isn’t the one who gets the girl, and the girl isn’t the one in distress and the all-powerful wizard can’t find his boots let alone save the world.
My stories are about the journey, how the girl grows up into a savior, the savior turns out to be the sidekick and the sidekick is a hero in his own right and on and on it goes… it doesn’t matter really whats happening in the world because it’s all about whats going on in their internal worlds.
See, everyone is obsessed with choices because of where you’ll end up on account if it, we make a big deal out of the decisions we make in life. The truth is, a decision is made in a split second, either you make it or it gets made for you. The story is about how you live with it, how you bear the brunt of its repercussions, how you react to events that occur because of it. The real story is about how you grow because of it and that’s what I write about.
There is no end, no purpose, just a telling of events as they transpire, the thoughts and feelings of those around and how they evolve. Hopefully, as you read my stories you too will journey with them and open yourself up to another world of possibilities.
So that’s why I write so that you may hear the whispers lost in the noise of the world.
And that’s what I do, I voice the echoes of pain, the hurt and the marginalized that gets brushed aside to focus on the actions of the gallant and the brave. Everyone knows that the hero or heroin beat the villain but did you hear the whimper of self-doubt moments before the great war? Before the clamoring of swords was the plea of why must I be the one to bear the burden? Before the shouts of joy were the tears of pain and suffering, see history remembers the hero or heroin and glorifies them, often it forgets to tell you that they were forced, no one expected them to win. My stories tell you that, so wanna hear it?