For a long time I thought every artist has to suffer during the
creation of whatever art he/she creates. I thought I needed to sacrifice my
sleep, become a hermit, and bleed on every page I wrote. Luckily, I’m done
thinking that. I endured my share of pain, eaten from the inside out by my
demons. I am now at a point where my main goal is to have fun with writing and
stop the suffering. It’s not an easy process to change my brain wave from pain
to pleasure but I’m working on it.
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I don’t have a set of rules I follow blindly when I write. Instead I
try to channel my creativity and give it the best medium to flourish, nurture
it with music or complete silence, and be as open and receptive as possible
(it’s amazing what one can find out waiting in line at Starbucks, browsing
through aisles at Macy’s or waiting at the dentist).
I’m mostly productive after dinner during weekdays and in between
loads of laundry during the weekend. Some words come easier than others. I
visualize a scene, get after it and stop only when it’s finished. Other times,
the words in my head don’t find the bridge to the keyboard; I end up waking
away (my pantry gets a lot of attention during those times…) and only return
when I found what I’m looking for.
At the moment I’m writing a series of novels inspired by my favorite
songs. I recently discovered I like writing each chapter individually written
from the hero/ine’s point of view. It’s a style I haven’t tried until Me Tarzan—You Jane, which is written
completely from the heroine’s perspective. I like it because I’m in my
characters’ head, skin-close to what they experience and their feelings. Can’t
get better than that.
Before I write new material, I read whatever I wrote the night
before. It helps refresh the story and gets me back in the mood. Research is a
big part of my writing. For instance my second novel title A World Apart happens amidst the Iraq War. It took me two years of
intense research to ensure I painted a credible image. Me Tarzan—You Jane is partially set in Paris, but I’ve never been
there. Luckily the Internet is a well of information so I could write the story
from the comfort of my own office.
I don’t watch much TV or read novels during the process of writing a
new manuscript for fear somehow it would influence my plot. In between stories
on the other hand I binge read and watch Netflix.
My writing journey has evolved since I started down this path and I
love to see myself grow and evolve as well. Nothing is forced, nothing is set
in stone. No one knows how long this gift will stay with me, and I intend to
make the best of it. After all, I am my creativity’s vessel.
Ever since I began writing and publishing books I’ve been on the run, always trying to write the next page, the next chapter, the next book. Every story was another journey, another discovery of what I could do and another evolution. All these years my motto was it doesn’t matter who I am or where I come from, but what I leave behind is. I thought I have it all figured out.
Socrates, one of the biggest philosophers to ever grace humanity once said, “I am talking a crock of s***.” I had no idea this expression dated hundreds of years ago and belongs to him, but who am I to argue with him? Needless to say, after some soul searching I realized my motto was a . . . pot of smelly stuff. I had a meltdown because, if you think about it, why would what I leave behind matter more than who I am here and now in this very moment? How will I ever know if what I left behind mattered with no way of seeing it? How am I gonna enjoy it? Think Socrates; does he know how much he touched humankind? Does he know people still remember him centuries later? And if he knows, does it make a difference?
I’m not sure. Frankly I doubt with all my heart it makes any difference to him. He’s gone, like I’ll be gone one day and instead of beating myself up to leave something behind me, I’m going to learn how to live here, now and totally enjoy it. No more worrying about tomorrow, but live today. No more five-year plans, but rather let the sun soak my skin, the air fill my lungs and the grass touch my feet. After all, I only live once.
