It's a common sickness. I seem to be suffering from writer's blog again. The causes are as elusive as the words I need to put on paper. We could always of course revert to the typical modern day excuse: stress. Yes I have been stressed. Work is well, more than a bit heavy. Inspiration-wise: well being tired has prevented my mind from being cognitive and or creative at this point. Again it all goes back to stress.
So what am I doing here you ask? Writing if I've got a block. How then am I able to do this? Well, honestly I've tried. Several entries left unposted were already written between this piece and the last entry you see. SO I guess in a sense I am trying to push and test myself whether this will be the one to follow through. I really had wanted to continue the "the"anthologies and make it a habit. But as plans go life gets in the way. So here I am trying to get rid of the block by just writing.
My brother asks what's so great about writing. Speaking is better.But words aren't art unless they are captured. And you can't speak without first writing them, either in your head or on paper. If you don't they can come out wrong and sometimes, to the extremes, even ruin lives.
I am going against tradition here though. In accomplishing this entry I am not actually following what the doctor's prescribe for writer's block. Like an old sore I am supposed to "walk it off" meaning don't go to the Waterloo while it remains a point of weakness. I have not come ill equipped, though. I am listening to music I like. And have just refreshed my tired mind with a browse through Shakespeare's sonnets. However another remedy I did not take was to instead of gather strength from my Writer's Creed (my promise to myself that I will not relinquish my sword in writing and why), I am trying to prove to myself that there are some worthy words in me. And am simultaneously trying to explain what writing does for me, how it affects my life and vise versa. Also in describing writing and its effects, I am telling you and myself what writing is to me or at least what it does in my life.
So here's what I discovered: writing and I have had a long arduous relationship. It has certainly been more than a fling or even a trifling affair but a longstanding relationship. At some points it was a love/hate relationship (like it is again now). It is also, more often than not, complicated. But you see what it does for me is provides me with history. Someone once said to become immortal or live on beyond our years you could do three things: have children, plant a tree, or write something. In a way that's how it is for me with writing, even though I am not yet dead. But moments, days, phases of my life get to live on longer because of writing. It's not just a world to explore and express myself, but it is continually leaving my fingerprints, my story, me imprinted somewhere. Recording feelings more vivid than any conversations, photos or videos can capture. Without it, I fade. I forget and am pretty much left dry, redundant and lost. In recording my biggest dreams I can live them or move on. In recording my deepest hurts I can learn from them and also move on. It's not dwelling or holding on to the past. It is more profoundly living in the present. Because everything we are and were and are because of what we were can be captured in a single journal entry or poem. That is the gift of writing. Even simply recording something of note and value to us is a gift and another little element that says we are made in the image of God. It's another big step between the world of difference between us and creatures without souls.
