I awake to the sun of a new day, my heart still filled with the passion that grew from last nights seed. I reach my arms in the air and stretch as my bones creak and groan, getting ready with me for the day ahead. I rub my eyes and make sure to smile. If I start the day with a smile, maybe it will continue that way too. I change into my ‘relaxing clothes’ as the kettle bubbles and boils, singing me a tune when it’s done. I kiss my lover good morning and sit with my hot tea and toast as I watch my morning vlogs, catching up on what I missed as I slept.
The sun it pours through the window and I briefly forget it’s unforgiving sting and thank god it’s summer. I wiggle and fidget as my limbs grow restless. It’s time to put all that inspiration to good use now that my brain is fully awake and ready to get started with the day. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, since my guts turned as butterflies burst from their chrysalis. With fresh tea and and excited fingers I open my laptop. I can feel them now, the words, waiting impatiently, ready to be born onto a blank page. I can hear them! The voices of people I’m about to meet; some for the firs time. I open a blank document and…
No voices reply.
No words are waiting.
One by one the butterflies fall to the pit of my stomach with a heavy thud as I brace myself for impact.
I didn’t expect this toady. Hasn’t enough time passed! Haven’t I suffered enough!
Like listening to another language, the distant whispers in my head are foreign, indecipherable. No matter how far I reach, I can’t grasp their meaning. I feel that all too familiar panic set in as I realise the fruitlessness of my attempts. Once again I have been struck by the unforgiving writers block.
Many people, I’m sure, imagine writers block as a huge wall, something impossibly large and unmovable. To me, it’s something even more daunting; fog. Thick and filled with a magnetic field that throws out my inner compass, it layers my mind with a thick mist and leads me a stray. Like being lost on a mountain you once knew like the back of your hand, my brain grows treacherous, impossible to navigate.
I retreat. From my mind, from my work. I make tea, open a window, do anything I can to forget the sinking feeling. I turn on my favourite show and spend my day lost in hours upon hours of coloured pixels, of a story someone other than me wrote. I marvel in their ability to create a good narrative before stopping myself.
‘Don’t think about stories.’
I do everything I can to forget my own failure and hope that tomorrow will be a better day. That tomorrow the fog will clear and I will once again be able to write as I long too. That tomorrow I will be able to create…I’m not holding my breath.
Hey guys, so as you may or may not have noticed, recently I’ve been toying with a new style of writing; a more creative style. Let me know if you would like to see more of this short story style blogs. Hope you are all having a wonderful week.