it’s all in your head, confused, a deep mix of thoughts that you don’t know how to let out. it’s blurry there, yet rather clear but you know – for it’s obvious – that the first second you’ll try to pour it out, it will lose all its sense, its beauty, its meaning and originality. it will seem vain to you, useless crap. so why even bother ?
then there’s this inextinguishable force, something you’re not quite sure you can call inspiration, it makes you rearrange everything in your head, but it’s still blurry, you forget one thing after you start to think about another, words melt together, ideas and sentences vanish as soon as they came, and there’s only one solution left if you don’t want to lose it all.
and it’s all about daring.
daring to take whatever you will need to give it a try.
you’re afraid you’ll sound ridiculous, immature, selfish.
you’re scared that everything you have to say has already been said, written or pictured.
and one day you know that you’re ready, like taking a jump, you are going to create, whatever it will be, whatever it will take.

god, i remember that day for me. i was living with my sister back then, in a two bedroom flat that was far too small for all the life we wanted to bring in. i was still reading a lot then, insanely, everything i could find beside my sister’s awful books, and i had just had an internet connexion on my own, and spent a lot of time reading there, too. one day, i bumped into some poetry that a thriller author had written when she was in college. it’s not that it was that good, but i was stunned. and i thought, it is possible to just take a pen and write whatever you’ll like.
the idea made its way. i was in photography school, but i only did what i had to there, and never thought i could have an idea of my own, make something that would be me, express my feelings, show a different vision of the world. i didn’t see myself as an artist.
then, one day, after i had spent my first weeks working in a professional lab – something highly boring and uncreative -, i climbed up on my elevated bed, sat down under the low ceiling, with just a pen and a notepad. and the first sketches of words came out, slowly, yet with some sort of certitude. it wasn’t the certitude that anything i was writing was any good – i’m a lousy writer anyway -, but with the certitude that i had done something that was my own, that everything in this notepad was mine, was original, words that had never been put together this way before – for a very good reason, but still…

it’s all about making slow progress. ideas come and then they’re gone. if you don’t grab them fast, play with them, study their infinite reflections until everything’s settled, then it’s as good and useful as tears in an ocean. everything is ready once it’s ready in your head. the realization of it is just another part of the process, it’s just all good surprises and possiblities you hadn’t envisionned before.

i know, i know that i can never write on a piece of paper as well as i assemble words in my head.
but tonight, i’ve found out, it’s nearly for the first time ever, for i do believe that everything else i have done came as an impulse, not something that was thought and studied, it was just intuition for the most part, so tonight i’ve found out, while trying some new things, that i can get what’s in my head, i can make it, the exact idea, the whole meaning intact, and i’m finding the perfection that was in my head, in the very imperfections of the results that i get…it doesn’t mean that it will be, objectively, good, just that i can do it, and more. i can do it, and better.

and it feels so…hmmmzz…exhilarating, that now my question is, what do people live for, when it’s not creating ?