Midnight reflections of a writer
By Maria Pascucci
(Originally published in The National Association of Women Writers
Weekly)
The clock chimes 12:00 am. Through the midnight sky, specks of
white shine through the window as clusters of snow sprinkle the
ground. Sitting on the love seat, legs bent to prop up the notebook,
exhausted tears falling, I write. Not because I want to. I really
want to sleep—sleep the fears away.
Instead, I write. Write because I have to. Have to get it out—have
to make a statement, even if it is only to a blank sheet of paper.
No joy, just frustration. World, though I fight in solitude, hear
my silent roar.
Please, someone hear my voice. Please, someone tell me that you
understand. Please, please, someone validate me as a writer. Am
I good—am I really good? Will I ever make it? It can’t
all be for nothing…
Hurry, write faster—get it all down. Words confine fleeting
thoughts. Don’t miss anything. Once lost, moments of creativity
may never resurface.
Don’t worry about order. Write the conclusion first, the
lead second, and then worry about the middle. I follow my thoughts;
they lead me to where I am meant to travel. I am bold, I am daring,
I give myself up to words and they light the way.
The clock chimes 12:30 am. My pen stops. I have nothing more to
say. Tomorrow, revision will begin. As the sun’s morning
rays burst through my window, I’ll wonder what I’d
been thinking the night before. No active verbs, no proper sentence-structure,
and no proper grammar? Revise, revise, and revise. Editors demand
perfection, don’t they? Not tonight—no second-guessing,
just free expression.
Though hand-streaked tears smear my face and neck, I smile. My
hopes, my fears, my words color otherwise blank pages. Maybe they’re
not perfect. Maybe they’re not even compelling. They may
never reach another person as long as I live. But, they are mine.
Even if no one ever sees, I am a writer. I validate myself.
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