Sometimes Life takes Precedence over the Words

Sometimes Life takes Precedence over the Words

Although of late I have faced setbacks and disappointments sufficient to stifle my attempts at self-discovery by way of self-expression, an almost unsettling calm has passed over me in recognizing that for longer than I can remember I have suffered most by my own hands.

I am not so much of a blogger as I am a writer. My chief tormentor is also my principal muse…myself.

In my periods of mania I am most driven and inspired to do what I so love to do…to write. During those times I feel most alive and best able to “suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”, hang the costs and carry on in my desire to live life completely and fearlessly. The desire to “take arms against a sea of troubles” is kept at bay, at least as long as I can still create…to be the director of my own private Theater of the Mind.

My desires to prepare my second novel for publication wanes as I continue to search for new directions, a new voice, a different message.

Although fantasy and a sense of the absurd have been some of my favorite vehicles, they were nonetheless inspired by autobiographical experiences. Then again, as rich as my life has been in story-book (but hardly fair-tale) experiences, I am rarely at a loss to describe plots and scenarios that most people would gladly eschew, but which I nonetheless felt compelled to embrace regardless of cost, danger, or rationality that have been the backs-stories of the screenplay of my life.

Early on, when I was told to write about the things I knew, I found the advice to be both helpful and inspirational because already, even at a tragically young age, already my hand was holding the pen that would write the poison thought that would unravel my sanity.

I recently have come to believe however, that these events so rich in experience are merely the background for what I intend to do by taking an even bolder step to take even the darkest experiences into the light of day without having to actually jump into the volcano myself (for once).

This brings me full circle into my favorite genre of Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction.

It occurs to me that as a writer, to simply chronicle what has already happened by way of direct experience is only a small part of an even larger theater of Imagination. It takes research to create stories spawned from within my imagination and still embrace factual truth, even if it represents another reality that at least for now is not entirely my own.

We live in wondrous times that the collected knowledge of the world is available at our fingertips without even leaving the confines of one’s own home via the Internet…if only you know where to look. No one single library anywhere in the world could contain such a wide array of subjects and information.

Long ago I was forced to embrace the admonishment to Never Look Away regardless of fear, embarrassment or revulsion. You cannot flinch if you intend to prevail…in fact it is only by embracing conflict that it is put into its proper place.

In truth, most of the times, I found myself strangely fascinated.

These past several weeks I have wrestled with whether even I have the abilities to embrace these thoughts I entertain, or rather, whether to reveal the heights and depths of where my imagination will lead.

Who the fuck am I trying to kid? Life never takes precedence over the words, at least not for me. Life may postpone the writing of the words, but the experiences themselves seem to arise from my compulsion to live out a screenplay that was written before my parents were born.

I live for the words, and the words live through me. I was born to live this life with all its highs and lows and to live to tell the stories of it. What are empty words without experience? What is Joy without the experience of Sorrow? How can you really savor Victory without experiencing the taste of the bitter ashes of Defeat? You can only really appreciate Peace after you have suffered Conflict, but you don’t have to stick your hand into the fire to know that it is hot.

Enough is enough. Time to use those experiences to kindle my imagination beyond my own experiences. A writer should be able to give voice to those too busy to tell their own tales. I once was one of them.

I am just the messenger.



Chazz Vincent



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