A calling, an eruption, a phenomenon, an occurrence, a state of flow, an outlet for outburst, an involuntary muscle contortion, a summoning, an awakening, a release, an instinctual truth, a fleeting rarity, an escape from the commotion, a coming and going concussion... Call it what you will; Just don't call yourself a writer when you're not writing. ©
Fundamentally, this book isn't "about" anything but submission of a poetry and prose collection that had to be a world level thank you letter to American artist Charles Bukowski whom I had found later in life as a reminder that there was no doing this right. "This" refers to the notion of what it means to be a writer, as the pieces encompassing this collection stem from realization of a rooted "no effort" and invasive take over in the course of my life.
Simultaneously, I brutally address what it took to learn that this was ok.
Young adults of the art feel stigmatized into forcing creativity scholastically, whilst thinking their expression is restricted, not being trained to listen to their gut or feel strongly by standing on their own experiences. Even if it's just by momentarily putting the mathematical thinking aside. I'd come across this the hard way from tutoring the subject of English first hand and sympathizing with people putting pressure on themselves in torment when they have "writer's block", so this could very well relate to aspiring writers in exercising patience. The purpose is to console by unpacking the nitty gritty, hard-hitting truths relating to existentialism, internal crises and sporadic nature that artists experience which the world doesn't often get insight into.
But ultimately, this is an "I love you" to the grace we can pay as humans with the capability to simply let go when we know it's time.
