After staring at the blank page for over an hour and more this morning, it dawns on me more that writing sometimes isn’t the easiest thing to do.
As a writer, it’s sometimes difficult to write apart from your experience and surroundings. There is sometimes the need to empty yourself off so you can muse; other times, your surrounding gives you the inspiration.
I have been accused already by many of my friends for probably making stories about them. They keep asking me and checking if I’m writing anything about them. So I no longer tell them what I’m writing about.
When I do meet people too and tell them I’m a writer, two things happen: they ask what I’m writing about or they tell me what they think I should write about. It’s fun to talk about what I write when they are complete strangers, you can be honest and you know you probably won’t bump into them again. If you would meet them again, they suddenly feel uncomfortable around you, almost assuming you are writing about them.
One truth is this: It’s not easy to write when things are not going so well. Now is one of those moments…
The words wont’ flow off the ink, because your mind is chewing on events, especially mishaps, regurgitating it and taking it all in again. So the process becomes a vicious circle.
You ask yourself if it’s worth talking about?
You answer yes! Why not? Then you consider maybe not; because somehow everyone would know what is up with you.
If you ask me, gloomy times are when it’s easiest to write, now the only issue is that you are not at your creative best, you are only writing as a response to your surrounding rather than imaginations.
I sound like I’m not making sense, but I know what I’m talking about. I’m trying to refrain from making this a ‘teenage diary.’ Have you read a teenage diary before? If you have, then you know what I’m on about.
I remember growing up; I use to document everything that happened to me, especially when I’m having a really bad time. I let it all flow in my diary and then I stamp it with my teardrop. I think back now and I laugh but hey, I’m making new memories.
The hard part is that I’m learning to write apart from life events.