Stephen King has said, “The only requirement”, to be a writer, “is the ability to remember every scar.”
I have just come across his saying since a few days ago when I was wondering what would be the next thing to write for a new day. I’m not following any major study in creative writing or pursuing a profession in being a writer; all I wish for is learning how to write as a true one. So when I’m not working on any mathematical problems, I often read and write. This hobby has officially worked for about 3 years.
But what about before that? How could I find my way into a writing hobby? As in the saying above of Stephen King, I had a few scars to remember. By the time I was able to remind all of them, I had already begun to write properly as a serious activity.
Some of the scars were remarkable wounds which still lingered until today. There’s that deep guilt in the childhood years with my beloved sisters, there’s that nice girl staying then fading gradually in my heart after the seventh grade, and there’s that enormous failure in a high school major contest which changed the fate of my life later on.
For some reason, I became even more introverted, to the point that I hardly spoke out my mind. I decided to write, in order to find my own voice. That voice I believed in could only be expressed through words, while the struggle to keep a good direct talk seemed too difficult at that time. Truth be told, the writing was a perfect choice for me since eventually it provided a great empathy to create meaningful conversations in real life.
I’m not sure whether there would be a day when I am able to share all the stories of my wounds to someone, which is quite an ideal goal to wish for. In the end, everything that matters is all about trust. To live your life in freedom and happiness, you really need to have someone in your life who is special enough for you to trust him or her willingly, genuinely, and completely.
At present, I will try my best to keep writing and stay true to my words. It may take time for some deep scars to find their ways here, and writing is also a battlefield when a green soldier like me has to strain all his nerves to make his voice clear and his mind sharp even in the midst of darkness, where no guild is available for an escape. When I can accept my true self fully, and be harmonious with nature, the right word will appear as a lightning sword to lead me out of the long night.
Winter is almost here now. The head may get cold, but the heart has to be warmer in return. The steel of swords might be chilling, but the nest of words is always full of cozy compassion.