I've always wanted to write, except I didn't know about what.
Over the years I had many ideas : a philosophical essay about the quest of happiness, memoirs, thrillers...but none of them resonated deeply. I wasn't ready. I knew deep down, that in order to put genuine words on paper I would have to fight my demons first, dig into my subconscious and my most shameful emotions, and I just wanted to leave them in that secret little box I buried in the abysses of my mind, and carry on with my life.
After moving countries and changing career three times, I ended up back at square one, with the dream of writing a piece worth being published, and why not a commercial success. Therefore, as a qualified Pastry Chef, and having developed recipes of my own, my first thought was a cookbook. So I started an introduction, but it left me unsatisfied, discouraged, lost. There was nothing of me in it, just cold memories and recipes displayed in the most basic form.
It is in this state of mind that I landed in Fiji for a writing retreat for women, held by a lovely talented nine times published author, Joanne Fedler. Insecure, shy, feeling out of place, I was wondering why the hell I did enrol for something I was obviously not made for.
The first day of the workshop was very interesting but this sentiment of being inferior was still darkening the experience. It is only in the middle of the night, after delicious cocktails and a beautiful diner shared with those eleven amazing females, that my shield collapsed. I was in my beautiful honeymoon beachfront bure -I decided to treat myself like a queen for this trip, which was the first one I took alone in my life- lying on my bed, doing my homework for next morning session, having left the hardest part for the end, when it stroke me. The exercise I was reluctant to do, was exactly the one which liberated me. Treating an emotion as a character. My imagination went wild...Yes! I had imagination! Unbelievable! And words started flowing. This short text was expressing what I didn't want to face, I was revealed to myself, and it wasn't culinary at all. In the second one I managed to link my deepest desires with food. I had found my voice, or should I say: my voice managed to swim all the way up to the surface and emerged screaming at me
" Now I got you, I am not going anywhere ! "
Writing is not a choice, it is a necessity. It is a beautifully painful process, needy, tyrannic, frustrating, depressing but so rewarding. There are ups and downs, prolific and sterile days, but most of all, it is a long journey, facing myself before facing a reader. And I love every single part of it !