It has been a while since I have written anything productive. I keep telling myself it is a phase, writer’s block even. But is it really? Is it writer’s block if I simply don’t want to write?
That’s not strictly true though. I can feel deep down I want to write. Of course, I do. It is what I love to. But that feeling that something isn’t quite right keeps haunting me. Following me through my days and invading my daydreams. Without my daydreams, there are no words, no stories, nothing. Just me and reality and to be honest, sometimes that sucks.
So I let my mind wander.
I let it ramble off into the great unknown and relay the thoughts into words that, hopefully, make some sense and possibly slightly coherent. Well, at least I did. Until now. But why can’t I do that now?
The stories whirl around my head constantly. Like Pandora’s box waiting to be opened to a new tale can spring to life. I can feel them in there. And together, I write the most epic tales. In my head. But the lock is still on the box and despite trying to shimmy their way out via tiny cracks, the words and worlds I create are simply stuck. Doomed to be captured and resigned to the darkness where no one except myself can hear them.
Trust me I know what I sound like getting this out. But to me, someone who loves to write stories and finds release in writing, this is disconcerting at best and extremely frustrating.
I can blame my life. My schedule. I am too busy. I don’t have time. But when I have the ability to tap out 500-word blog posts in under 30 mins (editing aside). Why can’t I get out what I want to say? What is stopping my ideas and thoughts being realised and brought to life?
I don’t know is the honest answer.
With vivid memories of a slightly inebriated me trying to convey this to one of my best friends recently, I realised I blamed the words. I blamed Ariel, the main character in my novel which too, has ground to a halt. I blamed my busy days and my fuzzy brain. But it still doesn’t make any sense to me.
Are the words dried up and I am destined to remain like this? Were my ambitions too high and I simply don’t have the talent to carry them through? Or are those words I was told, albeit a long time now, that I am simply ‘an awful writer who shouldn’t be blogging or writing‘ unknowingly still haunting me today?
Therein lies the truth doesn’t it. Because, if I think about it rationally, my words are still there. My thoughts, my ideas, my stories, they are all still present and weaving their way through my brain. The problem isn’t the words but in my confidence to get them out.
Am I truly talented enough to be doing what I want to do?
Honestly, who knows? I may be the next JK Rowling or I may be doomed to sit bottom of the Kindle Free Books chart forevermore with a 1/5 star rating. But if I don’t do it? I will never know. I will never realise my potential and world of what if’s is far more terrifying than a few bad reviews.
If you never try, you’ll never know what you are capable of. John Barrow
So I am jumping back on the horse. I will be attempting to write something even if it doesn’t make any sense and it isn’t very good. The only thing in my way is me and that isn’t a good enough reason not to try, is it?