“Next time, you should write about what you know"
I always wrote what I feel, and I always thought that that’s what I know. But I realized that I don’t know anything about it at all, or at least that’s what I thought I realized .
I was watching the musical film “Tick, Tick... BOOM!" at 4am in the morning when I heard the lines that was told to the main character (Jonathan Larson, played by the Amazing Andrew Garfield) by her most-of-the-time-absent agent, Rosa. She wasn’t particularly the best character, or even a good character in the film, but the line hit me like a brick.
I immediately paused the film and let myself be consumed by it. I didn’t know what to feel or what to say... I am struck, as if it was told to me directly. To be honest, not that I am a struggling artist in New York City trying to land a Broadway show, but throughout the film, I can see myself on Jon. Growing up, I always try to reach for the stars, I try to produce something that will change the entire trajectory my life. I wrote bad stuff, I threw out plenty of trash drafts, and I even bleed while doing some. In this moment of your reading, this is usually the part where I tell you something inspiring, or maybe, something to learn about. But NOPE. I am still the person who seeks for something in writing.
As you know, I was told (indirectly) by Rosa to write about what I know, but to be honest, I don’t know THAT much. How could I write about a story with a great ending when I, myself, never got to experience such? How could I write about the great teenage life I ABSOLUTELY HAD, if I spent the majority of it getting hurt, and hurting people? And even if I know a thing or two about hurting, What would that lead me to? Would it lead me to a whole article of me with a transcribed sounds of crying? Everyone knows something about hurting, we all get hurt sometimes. At this point, everyone has written so much about it that I can’t offer much new sensation if I were to write it. To be honest, most of my previous works was about me getting hurt in the weirdest way possible... How could anybody relate to that? Why would they even read the first part of it?
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If to write means to write about what one knows, I am not built for writing at all. I tend to write about what I don’t know, an attempt to understand what it means to feel something. If to write means to express what your knowledge and existence are aware of, maybe I am meant to write clichés.
“writing ‘cause I’m healing, never writing songs to hurt you. Using what I’m best at and I hope you do the same”
A line from beabadoobee’s song — ”This is How it Went"
If to write means to write about what I know, how could I even interest you? Do you like the dystopian world of Superbia? The unreleased musical play of the late Jonathan Larson? Do you like ticking time bombs? Do you like hell? What does it take to write something if knowing limitedly that might come from ignorance isn’t giving you any bliss?
At this point forward, I was supposed to write about a reflection as a conclusion, perhaps a captivating ending that you would find sufficiently satisfying.
Unfortunately, I don’t know much about that, too. I’m sorry.
