I looked at my earlier writings today. To be more specific, the stories I have written so far. I realise that when i wrote those stories I was more interested in what I had to say or the idea than in how i wanted to say it. To be more precise I was interested in showing the world how clever I was.I was not interested in the beauty of writing.
I wrote quite a bit for quite some time.I started off with a few stories and borrowed witticisms and moved on to the elaborate criticisms that arise when self-importance and angst meet at the altar of youth.Then I suddenly I decided not to write for an audience anymore.
In unabashedly putting out my stories in front of the world I was the infant clamouring for attention by putting on a show.I got enough attention and love to make me think that I need not doubt myself.
In graduating to tirades against tyranny I was the adolescent who rebels to assert his nebulous and impressionable identity.
In withdrawal I am the pimpled, wispy moustached, maladjusted teenager who is too timid to face the world.
What will become of me when I grow up, or will I?
Tony Xavier 