Jim van den Bos
Hi, hello, sorry to interrupt. This is going to be a short ride that is worthy of your time. To politely start; my name is Jim. Enchanté!
A year and a half ago, I found my home in writing again. rediscovered it by accident. To explain: I used to work as a journalist, but I quit when I found objectivity was valued less than monetary sponsors. Rediscovering that I could put the swarms of words on paper, in a new and different way, is the biggest gift in these eighteen months.
After I worked as a writer, after I quit, I didn’t write anything for a long time. I had lost the spark. Until a random day, or actually, night. I had a dream about an annoyed woman who couldn’t express herself. She kept inhaling her feelings, and with every annoyed gasp, she also breathed in air. Eventually she took in so much air that she floated above the world. Higher and higher, till she could eventually look down on the ongoings on the globe to see that they were indeed as she felt about them; life on the planet is shitty, but in a funny way.
A weird dream, but also my first poem, which still makes me laugh. Looking back, that was the spark, and that’s when I picked up the pen again.
I restarted being a writer , when I believed in my writing again. From that initial spark, I just produced; silly, broken, unfinished, and gradually more truthful poems. Carefully kept to myself, password-protected, hidden.
A friend told me a year ago that anything I write is mine, until I let anyone read it. It forces the piece to be open to interpretation, and by extension, it therefore becomes more.
This was the lesson I needed; to become open, to share. to start my website. (jimvandenbos.nl) To be a writer again. To feel that bit more, to dare to.
Three weeks after starting my website, a friend came up to me to tell me what a difference my story had made for a friend of his. A person I still do not know, to this day, had had an emotional connection to my ‘private’ words. I felt so fucking honored, and my earlier assumption was proven wrong. My prized produce is worth more when it is outside of my protection.
Passion. I’ve challenged myself to put a poem out every two days, which I did for a year. I’ve produced, I’ve been aware of inspiration, I have been aware of the lack of inspiration. I have become more professional. I know things; I am still so shy.
One Sunday, I went for a little dance in town, and I fully understood every level of being this new kind of writer. Separate from my day jobs, my writing now is a part of my whole person. This Sunday, on the dance floor, the cute Italian asked after an amount of conversation; which is better, your poems or your kisses? That was a first; charming me by using that knowledge. I can passionately kiss, but I think my poems are more challenging, if you want to truly get to know me.
His kisses were great, don’t get me wrong, but the thing that sticks with me from this meeting is his way of approaching me. It was an eye opener. After all of these years writing for money, pushing deadlines and juggling demands. This small, almost meaningless conversation, made me realize I like to be a writer, body and soul. Not as a worker producing words, but as an artist, sharing my soul.
I think the reason he approached me like this is not because he read everything quickly while he left me to go smoke. It must have been because I talked about me being a writer, and he saw a sparkle in my eyes.
Since I started sharing my prized creations I’ve grown. Now looking back, I would so advice everyone who has a similar passion for something to put it out there. Because shame or carefulness takes too much time, energy and effort. Life is so short, I’ve seen. It is not only worthy of exploring by every individual, it is demanded to make the maximum of it, in each and every moment. To share, to be together as unified people, opening up to celebrate differences, annoyances, love, and all there is. To be human together.
While ending the promised ride, it’ll be ironic to talk about the start. So that’s what I’ll do; The first steps to writing were making a newspaper when I was 8 or something. I would collect cartoons and stories and print them out for my classmates. They looked at it funny, and I think i quit after 3 editions, because I moved on to other projects. Still it helped me gain confidence and make contact. Being myself then helped, and becoming more of me now everyday is not only growing my person and my happiness, but also my writing.
It is all important in a journey; It was for me. Every step along the way, every word written, misspelled, corrected and deleted. Every comma, every dot, every empty space, every night spent sleepless because inspiration hit. All the doubt, all the sweat, all of it. All of it.
It is all worth it if you truly feel it; be a writer, be a wordsmith. Or in a broader sense: be a hopeless romantic with a bit of a backbone, discover yourself. Try something that scares you. Enjoy being different. Keep learning. Enjoy every step along the way. Most of all: do whatever the fuck delivers you your happiness.
And this is the end of this line. Again, because I always forget names, I’ll repeat mine to you; My name is Jim. If this wasn’t worthy of your time, you wouldn’t be reading this last sentence. I hope this story gave you a bit of happiness. I wrote it with love.
Jim