Writer’s World

 

image by signora oriente

image by signora oriente

I often think of my writing as resembling a tide. Sometimes the desire floods over me and I go for days and weeks, even months with a constant flow of new ideas and completed stories. An image, an experience, a simple thought in the quiet darkness of a sleepless night will stir my imagination and I’ll constantly feel like I need to be writing. I scribble notes, return to old stories and rewrite paragraphs, whole pages. I go back to things unfinished and with a rejuvenated spirit, attempt to complete them. 

Other times, the tide is out and my mind dries up. At these times, the very thought of writing is like a burdensome weight that presses against my temples like a migraine. Every unfinished story and unpolished sentence taunts me. They lurk behind me like shadows, their dark forms a constant reminder of my failings, my lack of persistence, my fickleness, my ever-fading work ethic. I begin to think, maybe I’m not cut out for writing. 

If you want to be a writer, you have to write every day. That’s what a professor once told my class. Every day. The line between passion and chore begins to blur and not only do I not want to write every day, I don’t want to write at all. The desire disappears completely. The ability to think of new stories, to bring together images, settings, character, experience, is gone. My mind turns into an endless, empty beach and my life begins to feel void of creativity or emotion. 

And then suddenly the tide changes and my love of writing comes rushing back. This is where I am now: thinking about writing, loving it, wanting it. I’m going back to old stories, jotting down ideas for new ones. The tide is in and my life, after what has felt like nearly a year of avoiding fiction, has finally returned to a place where writing makes me feel exceedingly happy and alive.

 

image by samurai

image by samurai

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