Does a person who found love in the art of words but hardly reads a book makes a weak writer? Does it hold the same idea of ¨you can´t be a good leader if you haven´t been a good follower?” Does it somehow deserve the judgement of being slammed shut for creative changes? I often wonder, and close to doubting myself for calling ¨me¨ a writer despite putting aside so many useful reads for years now.
Believe it or not, I have been forcing myself to read whatever catchy I find, but with no particular reason, or perhaps I have no memory of how. I seemingly have lost that literature carnivore in me. As a child, I have spent most of it reading extensively, even those with context alien to my language translation capability, and words beyond my perceptual understanding. But, as I get older reading served another purpose, a purpose not as valuable unlike how it used to be.
When my love of reading diminished, it ascended in writing. No, — the influence has not died down, only inspiration grew confounded. What I convey seems a contrary of what I have learned from others and yet my thoughts rhyme along with each heartbeat. A reader has the advantages of becoming a good writer, enforcing the art of writing images through a greater range of vocabulary. Maybe I should not call myself a writer because I hardly read a book and having an idea alone is not writing at all.
Over the course of my writing endeavours, my thoughts of how a person can be called a writer for being a less of a reader is not certifiable. I never bash reading nor to claim that I never read, but rather it raises questions to myself if I should continue pursuing it. I realized that ideation has its broader sense in terms of the art of words, its survival does not rely on the fundamentals of rules. It survives of how you make of it, your imagination, your philosophy, and your openness.