What I wrote on my Foolscap Paper today
I don’t know whether it could be pride to say that I don’t know a lot of things. Truth be told, I really don’t know a lot of things. Just some imagination sufficient to keep me day dreaming, I suppose.
What use of that imagination if it didn’t serve any purpose? I envied those who have such quick wit and full of ideas. The kind of quality I am lacking. Why is it really hard for me to construct good stories? Lack of imagination or lack of determination?
I boast about writing stories every day, giving the impression that I know what I am doing. But do I know what I am doing? Oh how wonderful it is every time I finish writing an article. That sense of accomplishment. Or is it happiness and relief that I finally get this one task done?
Where is the joy of writing that used to be there? Where is the love of hunting and digging stories? Where is that sense of beauty and ugliness in writing that lift and pierce the heart? Where did you go? Has changing times makes me dull and boring? Dull and boring. Are those words the same meaning? I don’t really know now.
And I am trying to know all these!