I was in the middle of a crowd. I went to a corner to look at something. I must have taken too long, I don't know. My friend came to me and said: "Nazy, stop writing! Come and join the others, you can write later." I looked into her beautiful eyes, looking shinier and deeper than usual in that bright April sunshine. I said: "Thanks for coming to get me. I'll come, but I can't stop writing, I'm not done yet." How did she know I was writing in my head?! My friends constantly surprise me with their insight, though not all of it is as pleasant. In the middle of a heated discussion, someone dear to me told me not too long ago: "I can't wait for you to blog about it!" Except this wasn't about a happy story. It was about something very personal and bitterly painful. I looked at my friend that day and said: "I am writing all the time, but not all that I write makes it to my blogs." Such has been my life recently. I have tens of hand-written half-sentences, place holders if you will, of things I need to say, written in meetings, in my car, at the supermarket, and more than once when I woke up in the middle of the night. I am getting ready to write them on my keyboard now. That's where I have been. I am writing.
4/12/2008
Writing Life
I was in the middle of a crowd. I went to a corner to look at something. I must have taken too long, I don't know. My friend came to me and said: "Nazy, stop writing! Come and join the others, you can write later." I looked into her beautiful eyes, looking shinier and deeper than usual in that bright April sunshine. I said: "Thanks for coming to get me. I'll come, but I can't stop writing, I'm not done yet." How did she know I was writing in my head?! My friends constantly surprise me with their insight, though not all of it is as pleasant. In the middle of a heated discussion, someone dear to me told me not too long ago: "I can't wait for you to blog about it!" Except this wasn't about a happy story. It was about something very personal and bitterly painful. I looked at my friend that day and said: "I am writing all the time, but not all that I write makes it to my blogs." Such has been my life recently. I have tens of hand-written half-sentences, place holders if you will, of things I need to say, written in meetings, in my car, at the supermarket, and more than once when I woke up in the middle of the night. I am getting ready to write them on my keyboard now. That's where I have been. I am writing.
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6 comments:
سلام نازی خانم
نمیدانم چرا به یاد نوشته ای از سید مهدی زرقانی افتادم.خلاصه می گفت:من اول نویسنده بودم، بعد نویسا شدم،دست آخر: نوشته.
آدرس را برایت بعدا می گذارم
وقت تنگ است
خداحافظ
نازی عزیز من معتقدم نوشتن فرد را در زندگی شخصیش دقیق و تیزبین می کند. من واقعن به اشتیاقت برای نوشن غبطه میخورم. البته داشتن اعتدال در بسیاری مواقع اصل صحیحی ست. لحظه لحظه ی زندگی را باید با اعماق وجود تجربه کرد (اصلی که میدانم شما تا حد زیادی لمسش کردی عزیز). صحیح آنست که برای انجام هر کاری رسالتی داشته باشیم و گمان میکنم "تجربه زندگی" می تواند رسالت خوبی برای نوشتن باشد.
مدتی پیش نوشته بودی که زیبای زندگی به گریه ات می اندازد و من عمیقن این حرف تو را درک میکنم عزیز. من چند سالی هست که چنین هستم. با اینکه فیلم سولاریس تارکوفسکی را بارها دیده ام هر بار بی اراده انچنان منقلب می شوم که احوالم به آدمهای که دارن زار میزنن شباهت دارد. یا در میان خواندن شعری یا ....
نوعی شعف درونی خیلی خیلی عمیق که ناخودآگاه خودش را به شکل گریستن آشکار میکند. چند سال پیش چنان این حالتها در من مکرر تکرار میشود (کاملن غیر ارادی) که به پزشک مراجعه کردم بارها. و بارها تست انواع دپرش دادم!!!
من در تشریح خودم برای کسی هرگز تمایلی نشان نمیدهم ولی نمیدونم چطور شد تصمیم گرفتم اینها را اینجا بنویسم. شاید بدلیل فاصله بسیار دوری که از شما دارم و وجود نوعی حس مشترک در بسیاری از نوشته هات.
بعضی وقتها عمیقن تشکر میکنم از خدایم برای وقایع خوب و بدی که در زندگیم تا بحال رخ داده و دوستان خوبی که بر سر راهم قرار داده.
همیشه سبز باشی
سوشیانس
:) awww ... write a book dear Nazy! :D
Infact ... I am waiting for one now :D
I am so sure you must have thought of this .... good luck!! :D
Salam Masoud Jan:
How poignant! Nevisaa...that's beautiful! Thank you for provoking thought again Masoud Jan. I hope you are well and happy wherever you are and whatever you are doing right now.
Dear Kind Soshiyans:
Thank you for sharing something so special and so private about yourself. I think women have it easier than men, because it is generally accepted for them to display emotion. Men have to deal with so much social stereotyping and pressure in doing the same.
I remember watching a movie with my sister once. I was going through a very painful personal time and I wasn't yet ready to discuss it with my sister. The movie was very much related to the way my life was going at the time. I remember wanting to cry and sob, but I didn't want to explain my situation to my sister. So, every five minutes I would excuse myself and go into the bathroom, where I would open the faucet and flush the toilette, so that the sound of my sobbing could not be heard by my sister in the other room. I would cry and pull myself together and go back into the other room, only to have to return to the bathroom a few minutes later, because the emotions inside me were bigger than me.
Soshiyans, you are brave to talk about something like that. You are a very special man, indeed.
Salam Esfand Jan:
Thank you for your encouragement! Indeed, I want to write a book. I am writing one in my head in a way, having a general outline about how I want it to read (once I have written it, of course!).
I'm not ready, though! I am going to to go talk to some experts soon, hoping to receive the necessary push to get started. It would be sad if I wrote a book which couldn't get published, and that's why I will need the advice and guidance. Hopefully I will have a better idea about where I stand with that in May.
Thank you again for your supportive nodge! I will need more of that soon!
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