Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen

A Place I Know Well

In Who, where, how? on March 11, 2014 at 7:59 pm


It is in my little apartment, right on the side of my bed. It is my desk. For long hours, for about six to seven years, I sat behind this desk every morning, noon and night, stoned, drunk or smashed out of my mind like a ship’s captain in charge of a voyage to nowhere. I wrote every night, every word with my heart racing. This place, my desk became the slum of my little New York apartment. It is littered with scraps of paper on which are my notes, my thoughts, and doodles. You see, writing screenplays is tough – as a matter of fact, the act of writing itself, for me turned into something shameful and disgusting.

The question that haunts and nags and won’t completely let go is this one: Who am I when I write?

I’m a crazy man. I have delusions and visions. I write them down on little scraps of paper as notes – then these notes, I write them down into screenplays in the hope that someday they will turn into blockbuster films and that people may pay me to watch them.

It is at this place I know well, my writing desk, that I have come to realize that I’m not a slice-of-life writer. That is not me. I’m not the one to shout, “look at me! Look how good this is! Hey guys, my heart is turned inside out.” It is at this very place that I know well that I ask myself, “who am I when I write?”

By King Molapo


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