Thought Picnic: The scattered bricks of my story

Making the bricks for story building

The things I remember that I want to forget and the things I have forgotten that I would like to remember become a swirling storm in the mind, mindful of the need to ensure that the truth expressed in the custom of the use of language does not suffer excessive embellishment as to read like fiction.

Then I realise, there are events that are too incredible to believe, those as real as I feel more like a film playing back in my mind with vivid imagery; the setting reanimates with the sensations of contemporaneous smell and feeling, hairs standing on end a frightened me betwixt two realities separated by time.

These are the issues that seem to affect my ability to pen the stories I have wanted to tell, many snippets of which slip through blogs or other conversations that I wish I had written as the thoughts coalesced into formats that could be shared.

The ages of Akin

I have not committed myself to formal writing courses, but I am learning more about how to tell stories even if I have not done much to the narrative for almost 5 months and beyond the age of 6.

It then occurred to me that I could begin to write at different ages, from observations with reflection, in gathering the observations of others from times when I had no recognition or awareness and from the perspective of studied development, the process of learning of and knowing myself.

More pertinently, it does not have to be a complex process, I have to find an easier flow to my prose without labouring the necessity to impress. I guess I just want to tell a story that is readable, maybe interesting and perchance funny. I have my work cut out; I hope it can eventually be effortlessly done. Maybe, I need to break away to do this thing.