I write. Not just blog posts or the few bits of poetry I put up here. I write. I am writing a comic with friends, putting together a book of poetry and work on a few short stories. I write. It keeps me together. I feel whole. With it, I can breathe. Lungs open. Eyes open. Free.
However, there is a constant factor. A distraction. A frustration. You already know what it is…it’s the bloody title! Trying to be original. It makes or breaks my work. Steers me further from or closer to beautiful and interesting words. I want to be different. I want to write something that no one has read before. Describe a feeling, with words so unknown yet so familiar to your soul. I want my work to provide a blissful rarity.
This problem. The ‘originality’ problem. Drifts and dips into life. People trying to be original. Trying to be different. Trying so hard to be the new, authentic…original….something or someone. Irony is: it takes you further away from that which they desire. You follow what appears to be interesting and eclectic. Everything mainstream is unwanted. All that is popular is deemed not worth your time. You, are original. You hop skip and jump from one image to another. All more different.
If that is just who you are, that’s completely alright. However to all those trying to acquire originality, beware, originality is not always created when trying to escape being ordinary.