I have began to realize that being a writer is really not an easy job. Especially if you want to be a successful fiction writer, especially if you want to make it big-time. I have dreams. But right now I’m just taking my first baby steps in that direction, with (as of now) two short stories under my belt and a third one coming soon. Make no mistake about it, I’m really proud of what I’ve written, and I think they’re the best in the world. But the effort which is required to come out with it is laborous.

What you see is the finished product. But what you don’t see the effort behind these stories. For every word that fits are two that go down the rubbish chute. I remembered writing the stories and I kept thinking that, “Oh no, this isn’t going to work!” Writing is like a marathon, you run the race not knowing how you are going to end. You persevere on, an endless stretch of tarmac ahead of you, and you keep running and running. And when you reach the end, you feel a gigantic sense of satisfaction.

But that is not the end. Once the story is finished one goes through a process of constant refining and editing, until, at last, something that sort of resembles a cohesive story comes out. It’s kind of like polishing and shaping a diamond, from a piece of rock to precious jewelry. And I haven’t even got started on a novel yet.

I am still an aspiring writer, in a small island state where the literary scene, to be frank, leaves much to be desired. Where are the Stephen Kings, the Anne Rice and the John Grishams of Singapore? Where are the Amy Tans, the Jane Austins or for that matter, the Tom Clancys of this nation? Singapore has yet to produced somebody that can sit alongside with the literary heavy weights of the world.

I don’t want to be just a small little fiction writer sitting somewhere in a cold office in a tiny HDB flat, a bespectacled little fella typing away on a keyboard, slouching and staring at the screen, with a mug of cold coffee placed on a toaster. Anybody who aspires to be such shouldn’t even bother in the first place. The literary scene here depresses me.

Or maybe I could be wrong. Well, anyway, next year there are a lot of things I can really look forward to as a writer. There’s the Singapore Writer’s Festival, The Golden Point Awards, and of course I want to join a decent writer’s club where I can network with others who are plying the same trade. And I should be working on my first novel by then.

Well that’s life I guess, a road of hardships and failed dreams. Behind every successful writer is a successful woman, and of course a dozen other failed writers. I am very aware that many who tried to achieve their dreams never do, and they end up settling for second fiddle, for something less than what they had wanted. That is unacceptable to me. Living a life of regrets does not hold any appeal to me, and I want to make sure it doesn’t happen.

Well, achieving your dreams requires damn a lot of hard work, doesn’t it?