I can't write. I can't write anymore. This feeling scares me so much that I almost try to deny it and not to think about it, but it's difficult not to notice. So now for the first time I admit it officially, almost breaking my heart while writing these words.
Perhaps it's a matter of indecision - I haven't yet decided in which language I feel the most comfortable and in which I can express myself better. Or it's a lack of practice, or motivation always excused by the ostensible "lack of time".
The ideas for a book or a story come to my head from time to time. I smile to them, think "That's a nice one" and forget, not even bothering to write them down. Why?!
Where is that Anna, full of dreams and ideas and ambition of being a decent writer?
Perhaps I really cannot write when I'm happy.
What was I thinking then? That I want to depress the whole world with pages filled with sadness?
I still do agree that sadness can be beautiful, and in it words can achieve their greatest potential, transmitting incredible emotional charge, almost indescribable and unbearable. How wonderful it is when a single line makes you cry the truest tears!
Or maybe I need more time to grow, to mature, to experience, put my thoughts together, form my opinions and only then create worlds, characters and lives in a story...
Or have I lost my imagination and creativity somewhere on the way?
I adore words. I want it all back.
Perhaps it's a matter of indecision - I haven't yet decided in which language I feel the most comfortable and in which I can express myself better. Or it's a lack of practice, or motivation always excused by the ostensible "lack of time".
The ideas for a book or a story come to my head from time to time. I smile to them, think "That's a nice one" and forget, not even bothering to write them down. Why?!
Where is that Anna, full of dreams and ideas and ambition of being a decent writer?
Perhaps I really cannot write when I'm happy.
What was I thinking then? That I want to depress the whole world with pages filled with sadness?
I still do agree that sadness can be beautiful, and in it words can achieve their greatest potential, transmitting incredible emotional charge, almost indescribable and unbearable. How wonderful it is when a single line makes you cry the truest tears!
Or maybe I need more time to grow, to mature, to experience, put my thoughts together, form my opinions and only then create worlds, characters and lives in a story...
Or have I lost my imagination and creativity somewhere on the way?
I adore words. I want it all back.
4 comments:
A skill like that doesn't disappear. Perhaps a former motivation (when you're not happy) doesn't work, right now. I don't think it's meant to work when you're happy. But the skill is there. You'll always grow and develop, as a writer. And I think the need to write is there. But where is the inspiration. The focus. The urge. It will come, I think. When you're ready. =) *hug* - S
Thank you, Staffy. *hug*
So why, really, do you think this is? What has changed? Are you unfocused? Become a different person than before? What's important now isn't the same as what you thought was important before?
When there's something inside your mind - story, thoughts or whatever - that wants to come out, it will. Just follow your intuition. (and perhaps write down those ideas, eh?) ;)
- S
Yeah, I'd always written them down, Staff. The point is, I even gave up on that. But yeah, I promise (myself!) I'll write them down next time.
What has changed? Certainly something. Am I different? In a way, of course I am. Well, I've been thinking about this and I realized that I haven't been paying much attention to ME lately, which turns out to be very bad indeed. But I'll be changing it, I've already started, so everything's on a good way. Let's hope the inspiration comes back again.
Or maybe it doesn't have to hurry, anyway. Perhaps I really need to mature a bit more. There's no pressure, after all. There are writers that started to write when they were 50 or something. So it's never too late I guess. ;-)
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