Maybe I take it too seriously? Maybe I don’t take it seriously enough? Maybe I spend too much time thinking about it, and not nearly enough time just doing it? Maybe I just suck at it, or maybe I just think I do, and it prevents me from just letting it happen? Or maybe, I think I’m too good at it, and therefore, am unsatisfied to produce less than stellar results, which in turn, prevents me from doing it at all?
Whatever the case may be…lately, I’m just not writing very much at all.
And I miss it.
I will sit at the computer, staring at that damned blinking cursor and think to myself “there MUST be something I have to say, anything…” but nothing happens, my fingers don’t move across the keyboard, the words won’t form in my imagination, my mind, just as the screen, is blank, but for that damn nagging cursor…
It’s as if it taunts me with each flash: “you can do it,” “no, you can’t” “yes you can” “No you can’t”…
And eventually, it wins, I quit. Look away, ashamed to find no words on the screen, no ideas in my mind, nothing to show for my attempts.
If a writer runs out of words, can she still call herself a writer?
The yearning to create, the desire to string words together into a thought that makes sense, is ever present, ever strong.
In the back of my mind, the ideas swirl, tease, lap at the edges of my subconscious like waves at the shore, ever rising, but ebbing away just before I can get my toes wet…
Now and again, I catch a tiny splash of water, and I think, finally, I'll quench my thirst…but just as quickly, as if struck by a forceful ray of sunshine, the thought evaporates, leaving me parched, and wondering just where it was I was headed…lost in a desert, grasping at the mirage.
It was just there, a moment ago, that great idea that would change it all, the plot point I’ve been needing to turn it all around. I saw it, I held it, I let it get away once again.
When the muse has packed his bags and left you, can you ever coax him back into your arms?
I hear his laughter, and am unsure if he’s laughing with me, or simply at me, at my inability to make peace with him. I whisper sweet nothings in his ear, make promises of delivering dreams beyond his wildest imagination, if only he would stick around for a time, help me stay focused for a while…
But he laughs, he scolds, he shakes his head and walks away…”You’re not ready” he says “you can’t handle this relationship right now, you need time, we need space”.
“But I miss you,” I counter “I miss our talks, I miss our moments sitting together, saying nothing, but saying it all, I miss your hand on my shoulder as I sit hunched over the keyboard, letting the words flow, encouraging me, cheering me on…”
“You’re simply too distracted” he says “give it time, I’ll be back when the time is right”…
I want to cry out after him, I want to beg him to stay, but perhaps he’s right…perhaps this is one of those occasion they speak of, “If you love him, let him go, if it is meant to be, he’ll come back to you”…
Oh Muse, how I pray it is…I don’t know that I can survive without you, without your caress, encouragement, without the sweet release of words on paper…how I ache for that sensation…
Maybe I’m too needy, maybe I’m not attentive enough. Maybe I’m too desperate, maybe I’m careless…maybe just maybe I’m beginning to break through the wall.
Whatever it may be…I feel the stirring of a writer within me once again…slowly beginning to rise from the deep slumber…
1 comment:
Do you own a copy of The Creativity Book? It's an awesome addition to any writer's collection.
I am getting quite frustrated with the great ideas I have when I'm not in a position to make a note of it, only to have it evaporate like a mist as soon as I sit down to write. I think I'm going to text them to myself from now on... I always have my phone handy.
Post a Comment