Rambling About Writing

One of the most frustrating parts of being a fan of fiction in all its forms, is the point at which you sit down and attempt to pen your own entry to the art form.

For as long as I can remember, stories and ideas have been constantly invading my thoughts. To the point that some nights I will have to abandon my bed over an hour after first attempting sleep, simply to scrawl down yet another storyline or stanza that will never see the light of day.

For some reason, reading someone else’s words, hearing tales of another writer’s struggles and successes, fills me with this unaccountable need to write something of my own.

Unfortunately, the second I begin to put pen to paper, or to be more accurate, boot up my computer and tap away at a keyboard, I seem to lose sight of all artistic temperament.

Almost as if the blank page is suddenly transformed to Everest.

Recently the frustration has increased due to changes in my social circle. In recent years I have inexplicably found myself surrounded by writers. People who, like me, have a burning need to get their stories out of their heads, and into some public forum or another.

While I adore these people, relish their friendships and the challenging, interesting conversation and inspiration they provide, I am also immensely jealous of them.

Very rarely do I look back and wish I could change things about my life, or myself. The fact is that I feel incredibly fortunate in my life and know that were I to have taken a different path, I may not be as lucky. But more and more lately I find myself wishing. Wishing, to my mind, is a fairly thankless task. Far better to work for the changes you long for.

And yet here I am, wishing almost constantly, for more. Greedy? Perhaps. Pointless? Almost certainly but there it is.

What do I wish for more of?

Time.
Patience.
Will power.
Confidence.

As it is, I still find myself prohibited by the belief that 27 years is proof enough that I am unable to change these things.

I’m not really writing this for encouragement. I know that the biggest obstacle in achieving any goal is oneself.

I guess I just wanted to take the opportunity to write an idea, a view of something I have and will continue to, experience.

Particularly as something as short as this blog post feels far more manageable than the 2 books I’ve been ‘working on’ for 4 years. Who know, In another 4 years, I may even make it to the 5th chapter on each of them!

End Ramble.

The Frustration of Suffering an Inconstant Muse

The melody, a sweet refrain inspires me to try again. To caress the button, which leads to magic, contained in a moderate metal box.

The whirring as each element springs to life, within minutes I feel the nerves rise as a pristine glow appears before me. A few taps and clicks and it’s time to begin. But what will be the result of this whim?

The dream re-emerges, a longing rarely quelled. The safest route to let words flow. To let my creativity be compelled.

But a fear which never abandons its post, prevents the confidence required. As the blank page slowly fills, no true sense of completion shall ever be acquired.

Inspiration is a fickle friend, there until she’s needed. And attempts to mete out the initial burst fail miserably. Until the urge for abandonment is acceded.

Idolatry feels natural and a necessary fragment of artistic stimulation but disillusion and self-doubt rapidly rear a rigidity in prose until fear of failure overcomes and finally the page is closed.