Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Writing is in the Blood??

The post below is extracted from my younger brother's blog, at, check it out let me know what you think;

The Writers' Bloc - Mbonisi P. Ncube

What drives the so called writer to want to write? To create that grandiose masterpiece that everyone ends up wanting to lay their hands on? Is he driven by a pure inspirational thought? Or a crazed notion that he needs to change the world through his art? Or simply, is it a sudden urge to pen down his emotions, to well down, so well and perfect, his entire heart on paper? Or maybe it is a calling, heavenly or otherwise, that impels him to create a work of art, to push pen against rustling paper, amid the noises of the street below him. What drives him to create a work of art so mesmerising that whoever reads it begins to ponder about the level, or state of thought that the writer was in, during that demure second, or that period of brilliant creativity... But writing is a tool to manifest one's feeling, it emancipates the mind from its over-the-top thoughts, to the surreal world that the writer lives in, and he can put word to paper, scribble vigorously, and manage to live out his dream when he begins to write..What drove Tolkien to be so unique? To create a Middle-Earth so real, so real that when you read the adventure, your heart twanged with joy, and wonder at the creativity of the world he so envisaged? Or Shakespeare, the wordsmith who penned down plays that still 'breathe' even up to this day? Chinua Achebe, Dambudzo Marechera, Arthur Miller, Wole Sonyika, Shimmer Chinodya, William Blake, Chaucer, Caryl Churchil, Charles Dickens, Tsisi Dangarembga... the list is endless, for prose and poetry is an endless pit of creativity as well. It spans all modes of life, all aspects, all roads we travel on, our reactions and actions to tragedy, comedy, history.. just about everything that this world has to offer...As a fellow writer, I have also penned down many things, some which are very close to the sinews of my heart, some pure fiction, a resultant swoon of a spark of my creativity; and some which merely bend the rules of this world. But, that's the marvel of it all; for when you write, you cannot have any boundaries, for there aren't any boundaries. You cannot have censorship, for that too is non-existent. There are no dermacations into the writers' lane of life... he must cruise along with his emotions, climb and trudge along high walls, be swallowed by huge water bodies, in his sole quest to achieve his main purpose in life; that is, to merely write, write, and feed that instatiable thirst that he has within his trembling pen... For the writer, the pen and ink are his sword, and the paper becomes the world he must live in, and the brain, his strategy on how he must wield his sword...