Writing is fun because when I write, I get to make up stuff. I get to imagine new worlds and people, and their stories. And sometimes, just sometimes, people even give me money for doing it. How cool is that?!
It's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting by the window, waiting for the typhoon to come.
It's been raining for the past 2 weeks, and while earlier in the week, I wanted nothing more than to be outside, somehow today it's ok not to be. It feels right to be indoors with a glowing heater and blanket around my legs whilst outside it's wet, cold, and grey. Perhaps because there's a typhoon on the way, and it's so deliciously melancholic. Around midnight, Typhoon Lan will hit. It's a category 4 typhoon and I'm not sure what to expect. I'll pack a bag just in case.
In the meantime, all this wind and rain is making me reflective. Why, in the last two weeks, have my thoughts towards how and what I write become kinder?
The reason is when it comes to writing, I load myself up with pressure before I've even picked up a pen, or opened my laptop. There's pressure to come up with ideas that are unique, gripping and insightful, to create characters that ring true and aren't cliche, to tell stories that are moving and worthy of a literary prize, and to write fast and frequently.
But over the past two weeks, a subtle change has taken place.