Why I write

I often listen to music when I write. My best writing comes from listening to music. It makes me feel like I'm in a movie on some days. I feel like a character from a book, the walls change shapes, spaces change, I can lose myself so easily in the sensation, into a nothingness. I see colours, memories, stories swirl into a smoky black and white. fragments of music and scenes, dreams. I want you to lose yourself in the words. Taste the creaminess, the sweet, the cold, the metallic sadness, the emptiness of a road. Smell the tears and the happiness, the anguish, the desire, the guilt, the pleasure. I want you to think of it as a slice of cake. You're biting into it and feeling everything then.  Everything you've ever felt. It rushes, knocks you down, pulls you, you float, you feel. Feel everything.


Since I wanted to start this afresh I'm not very sure where I should start from. Perhaps with the title of this blog- Writings Without Colour. I chose this in the spur of a moment without really thinking about why I was choosing a title. I wanted something that would describe my writing and at the same time would absorb my reader, attract them to the page. Writing is a skill that not many of us can master but we all start somewhere. My writing is a strange combination of  fiction and non-fiction, some of it is stories, some of it is just random free writing that I thought I should start documenting somewhere. My writing style often incorporates  a lot of description. It works with alliteration and I write hoping that the words will blend into each other, like creamy make up on a doll. I want people to visualise things, to feel the wind on their skin as they read my words, to maybe not feel the same, but to understand.

I may not make sense often, but if you listen to me, listen to the music I want you to while you read, sit quietly, sit in crowded spaces, listen, you will feel. I promise you you will. You will feel like rocking yourself into a quiet sleep, a silence will creep into you, it will kiss your cheek as you sleep. You will dream of soft white snow on cobwebs, tears lining your eyes, of good music, lullabies. I want you to feel at home but alone, happy but torn. I want you to feel alive. To read.