On the upside, now that this website is up and running, and self-sustaining; writing blogs for it shouldn’t feel like a task. Especially for a content writer. Writing should flow like poetry, like a lullaby, like a gush of cool wind on a hot sunny day. But sometimes, it is hardly like that. I wish if there were noticeable triggers available to clear conscious processes.
It is not easy to clear writing blocks. Months of procrastinating, socializing, loving, thinking, traveling and reading voraciously don’t help. What are content writers to do? I ain’t a novelist yet. Hardly a substantial author but just a very young thinker and observer. I wished there was magic I could use to transcribe my floating chaotic thoughts on printable devices or machines. Probably then, I would have produced much written organized literature to upload on this website.
Moving and floating, like this written piece, unlike other blogs on this website I share my dilemmas of writer’s block.
Oh but you have experienced it. And illogically, I find myself to be tormented by demons fabricated in my mind which nulls my writing prowess. I wish to kill those demons. But, overthinkers are unable to come up with enough strength to kill these demons. I don’t think I am strong enough.
Prisoner as I am of my own mind and its sensibilities, I find myself now surfacing and clearing clutter. My brain, full of valuable, precious memories and thoughts, is stuffed in a small closet, cluttering and occupying cramp spaces. Its like focusing on one thought removes other, jumbled, stuffed pieces with it. Knowing the amount of time I would need to clean the mess, I decided instead of dealing with one thought at a time, I would focus on decluttering the closet first, throwing all of it on the floor and then probably sifting through them like clothes, deciding which one to organize where, and then getting rid of unwanted thoughts that still cluttered.
After a break up which tore me into pieces inside out, I ended up doing the most cliched thing. I stopped listening to music. And this happened five years back. Till a few months back, the sound of music repulsed my soul and irritated my mind. And now, going through a process of internal healing, I am welcoming sounds, music and words back into my life. I have missed listening to music.
Twenty-four years now, and hating each part of growing up, conflicted to accept a womanly mature face and bosom, here I have laid my greatest demons of adulting. All this time, thinking that writing was an external experience, I got wronged.
Opening my eyes to reality, few days past my birthday, and hoping to have immortality of body and soul, I am here to embrace aging and adulting. Awakening at twenty four, here is my epiphany.
Writer’s block – schmlock.