55 fiction/why write?

Hey, here’s my (weiqing’s) stuff, hope it’ll be a good read for you!

Life
With an unsteady hand, she etches the first strokes on the blank white canvas. Then come the bright splashes of vivid colour, before a surge of mottled black drowns out everything. Desperate, she rains a bucketful of tears upon it, but the stains refuse to go away. Indeed, life’s canvas never offers a second chance.

Hello, Mars!
This is his last meeting with her. Much has changed since they first met. Once, she was fresh and full of life, and he had just begun to experience the heady joys of being with her. Now she was old and spent, and so Man bid goodbye to Earth and boarded the spaceship to Mars.

Do you remember me?
The bright sparkle of the thread of sunshine that sneaks in through the crack in the wooden doors catches her breath. She leans towards it, and is gratified when the cool morning breeze gently caresses the back of her eyelids. Then you slam the closet doors shut again on that hideous shirt you’ll never wear.

Writing

Writing is often exalted as the truest and purest form of expression; the most effective way to crystallize the swirl of emotions inside each and every one of us. But is it, really?

For the tired, jaded souls trudging through the rhetoric of everyday life, writing ceases to be a beautiful, emotional exercise. Their writing comes straight from their hearts, and possessing hearts long dulled by the slow pounding rhythm of boredom and fatigue, the glimmer of inspiration and hope that one oft sees in the writing of youth is shrouded in an oppressive fog of ennui. The best pieces of writing can only be produced when the writer herself is in her best state of mind; consequently, a writer whose senses have been blunted by years of disillusionment cannot hope to craft a masterpiece.

Or, perhaps there exist a few people whose innate talent for writing is so strong that no matter what their frame of mind, once a pen is put in their hand, the sheets of blank paper in front of them have no chance of protecting themselves from the barrage of words soon to drown them.

At the end of the day, I guess, a piece of writing does hold up a mirror to the churning feelings of its writer as she was writing it. A piece of writing can very well allow a reader to asses the writer’s mood, personal opinion and maybe even her beliefs and values. It reflects its writer’s subconscious thoughts and emotions, and the subtle shades of meanings detected in the various words employed can all paint a good picture of the writer’s psycho-emotional thought processes.

Or- does it? If you could tell I was feeling (how do I put “sian” cheemly), kudos to you, you’ve proven my (mini excuse for an) essay right (: