My literary ambitions are mixed up with feelings of being isolated and undervalued. I know I have a facility for words and a power of facing unpleasant facts and situations, and I feel that I’ve created some sort of private life in literature in which I can get my own back for my failures, especially academically, in my everyday life. I do not only report to others but also to myself first and foremost. I like the communication aspect of writing since it gives me a ‘somewhat’ safe platform to question the authority, societal rules, culture and identity.
I write not only to find a way into the world but also to hold it away from me so that sheer, senseless events would not devour me. I usually feel this powerful adrenaline rush and if I am in bed, I jump out and reach for my ever present pen, a paper and my old flashlight in order to pen down my sentiments. As most writers have sagely implied, during that compulsive state of inspiration, I replica a pregnant woman in labor pains and I therefore cannot sleep without devouring the paper with my pen. Actually, most of my widely acclaimed poems, especially on my high school weekly column Classroom Diaries; the Poetic Muse, have been created in this convulsive mode. I have therefore discovered the necessity of splitting from ‘reality’ and making a descriptive literary effort under a kind of compulsion from outside.
I write mostly for myself, for my self-regarding pleasure, trying to excel and always falling of the excellence I desire. Although I fancy my writings, I sometimes write poor and unfinished poems and I have, many times, attempted short stories although some have been ghastly failures. I like the process of writing. It’s solitary and it makes me sit and consider things to jot down. Surprisingly, I seldom compose in my head before undertaking any writing. To me, it is like this powerful art is some kind of calling, some sort of hypnosis. It just comes from some outside natural force. Often, the first thing I do when I am conscious of a poem or any essay is seek the pen and it seems as though gazing at a piece of blank paper hypnotizes me into the awareness of the subconscious.
I believe that my writings, both poems and essays, are the fusion of the contradictory ideas that surround me and inevitably affect my environment. As a budding writer, it is an art I practice as a result of my emotional irritation and tension. I am firmly convinced that any writer, I inclusive, must never respect tradition above his/her own sincerity above all and to no public or personal acclaim, whatsoever alluring. In my own opinion, I am supposed to write with all the courage what my subconscious mind tells me unabated by the rankling consequences that I may inadvertently face.
I love people responding to my literature both positively and negatively. In my opinion, a formidable writer is molded through criticism. It’s the same cornerstone in which, as a writer, I’ve used to better my writing. So I like my audience taking me seriously. By hearing their different opinions both from my fellow writers and listening to my audiences’ responses, I can improve on my arts and develop to be more appealing in the ensuring future.
I want to be a talented writer and an original imaginative poet. Actually, I want to develop my own unique poetic style that stands for me. I want to write books laden with plots, twists, and jokey aside and nicely turned bits of zeitgeist (experience and outlook of age) observation at humor. I want to write enormous dramatic novels with mostly unhappy endings, full of detailed descriptions and arresting imagery and also full of passages in which words are used partly for the sake of their sound.
Lastly and mostly, language in speech and momentously in writing is a living art related to the whole of any writer’s experience. My urge to write is the urge to give shape and meaning to my life. When I think, I write, and when I write, I choose my words carefully to convey what I think in the best way possible. As writers, our use of words should help us in molding our ideas, developing our arguments and exposing our feelings. A writer needs the mastery of language in the best way possible to impose form and character on life itself. With an impeccable mastery, I believe, any writer can thus prosper in the literary world.
Written by Emmanuel Baraka