In a moment of clarity, I deleted the multiple Word Documents filled with half-finished writing. I understand my purpose now. At least, partly. I feel better than I have in a year.
I see that there is enough time ahead of me. That, I don’t have to live so quickly. I can learn the graphic design, write too and pause to take pretty pictures. The clarity stuns like the sun on this beautiful day. The clarity does not come with happiness. Something better, even. Joy.
What kind of writing do I want to produce? The honest kind, is my answer. This must be why I have been struggling to write fiction. All of the contrived stuff brings about instant writers block. When I write my life down, it flows so easily.
I want to write Nigeria into a story. All of her ugliness and beauty stuffed into characters and descriptions. And I will. In fact, I must. It’s what I have been called to do. Even in my hatred for all that has been happening recently, I still feel indebted to her. I still want to do something to save her.
If I am not writing from my heart, then there is no point. Fiction, non-fiction, articles – these categories of things that I need to fit into. Things I have written before. I’m leaning towards non-fiction now. Putting my life into pretty words is a way of distancing myself from the difficult things I have endured. Here I go. Now, it begins.