It’s been too long, far too long. It’s like those habits we try to shy away from, or keep at, without much luck. I read some bits everyday. I would’ve liked to said “a lot” but that’s genuinely not the case. But of what I read, I am amused, entertained and enthralled. Enthralled at how good the writing I read is and then I realise how much I have slipped away from this writing only because I don’t write. It’s not writers bloc. It’s probably mismanagement
or YouTube of time and how I work around my schedule. Because a schedule is important to me or so I say. I like to think that I once had the ability to weave my way through words. I don’t think it’s the case any longer. I don’t write to please anyone but myself and I am not pleased. I suppose that could be a problem.
But having said that the best of inspiration strikes midway during a yoga pose where I may or may not be balancing on one foot, because I can’t do inversions. Or when I’m in doing laundry. Or worst, when I’m driving and it’s a weird case of “Siri not available” or is available and doesn’t really pick my accent. But when the time does come soon after these bursts of inspirations, the moment is gone, words are lost or worse, the words are not lost yet there is an expressionistic lull that follows and forcing the completion of that lull would be as fake as .
But then the material I read! How are they written? Is it just me or don’t you wonder how beautiful articles of writing are pieced together and strung into a little dose of perfection?
I do. I constantly do because it reminds me of how much I may have failed as writer. Because a writer is all I have been wanting to be for the past seven years. It scares me to think on what life would be if I weren’t a writer or did not want to be a writer.
You see, writing was the real skill I thought I had up until now and it’s not the case anymore either. It’s not as though I acquired another skill but rather, I seem to be out of touch or have lost the only skill I seem to have had. I feel the same way about wrapping gifts too.
There are different things I do as “work” that does not entirely involve writing and while that does make me happy I keep wondering as to how do rework or reword this writerly-ness. There is no room for crappy writers out there .
…and then the expressionistic lull comes in like a wrecking ball.