I’ve been trying to write a short story since a month but, still I can’t. I already have the idea in mind, but words fail me, or I fail words, I am not sure as I talk.
I’ve read a lot, at least enough to judge good or bad books. However I don’t trust my own writings. I’ve seen those writers who wrote nothing, yet, their works are highly acknowledged worldwide; and I don’t wish to join their queue.
I’m not fond of modern Arabic literature. It’s so boring. People are willing to innovate so they went off the shore to shallow extremes. Am not fond of old literature too. I feel it more like dreams and dreams. And I’m bound to reality.
Good literature doesn’t have a time. Good is good, no matter what’s the time.
I want to write good books, but afraid. There are many good books left on shelves that I haven’t read yet. And I reckon, I should mix with people, different mentalities, different places and times.
If I need to be a writer I should confront myself now and for all..
Am I up to it?
I don’t want to be a person running after his mirage. There is an abrupt of words recently; but who will live and who will be soon forgotten. I don’t want to be forgotten. I don’t want to fill white pages with dotted black shapes. I want to write, be heard and I want to have faith in me.