Writers write to be heard.
We have stories in our minds and hearts. Think of it like a dam holding back a flood of water. Ideas, voices, settings, characters, they all clamor loudly. We are the dam, and if we resist, we will break. It can be voluntary and we're the mouthpiece for them. Sometimes it is not, and they burst out anyway.
Critics want to stifle that flow of words. Some attack the idea itself. It is not acceptable, not appropriate, not comfortable. Others berate the writer. That person wants attention, they want to be seen and heard. What sort of person would stand out from the crowd? Challenge conventional ways of thinking? Point out the flaws of the world around them? Indulge in worlds that may not exist in reality? Bring out emotions that are unfamiliar or unwanted?
Who would even dare?
A creative person, of course. One who marches to a different drummer, whose path cannot be predicted or steered into a 'correct' path. One who uses their chosen medium to express their hearts and souls. This person will stand out, just by virtue of what they do. Others will notice and remark on their unique path. That path may not be paved with gold or bring untold riches, but that isn't the goal.
My writing is an expression of who I am. I need to tell the stories of the characters in my head and in my heart. Yes, it means I may not be a typical purveyor of words. It means that I tell my own truth. It may not appeal to everyone and that's all right. They are welcome to look for other writers who might appeal to them; I wouldn't be offended. I refuse to change who I am, what and how often I write, to make them feel justified or vindicated.
I don't mind communicating with other writers or readers at all. As long as we approach ideas with open minds and hearts, and not just point accusatory fingers, we all can make the world a better place with our creativity.
Keep on writing
~Sifa
The #vssfantasy prompt word is "becoming." Moonlight bathed the nursery. A silver light diffused through the trees and touched every leaf within. My Guide guided me down the dirt path. My ears caught a hint of harp music, with a soft melody of pipes and flute.The sharp smell of fresh rain and spring dew tickled my nostrils. All of my senses told me I was outside, under the bright full moon. I saw no signage or any directional arrows, but before I knew it, the path ended at a wide, green meadow. "Where are we?" The Guide smiled. She tossed her head and her long lavender braid sparkled with glitter. "We are close, please follow me." Before I could say a word, she was down the path. Her feet didn't even touch the ground; her white diaphanous robe shifted with the wind. I scrambled to catch up. Unfortunately for me, my Human capabilities were limited in the Fae realm, and I had to use my own two feet. "I'm glad you responded to our Call. Some ar...
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