Tag Archives: writers block

Pleasure!

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Oh that pleasure,

Of reading;

hidden from those prying eyes.

 

PS: Ashamed only to be doing it till now 😉

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One Blank Day!

I have been staring at the infinite space since morning today.

I had a paper to turn in.

For which I cancelled my work and all my other plans.

The outcome of freeing my space was, freeing and or emptying of my mind too!

And all I have at the end of day is, one blank page.

Wondering what I did all day?

 

Drank coffee.

Read.

Wondered.

Wandered.

Over-thought.

Read some pages again. (Fiction though.)

Ate junk food.

Wondered and wandered some more.

Wrote a few words, or to say few lines.

Didn’t like it.

Erased it.

Watched TV.

Didn’t like anything.

Watched stand up comedies on the Internet.

Wrote some more, paragraphs and pages this time.

Hated it even more.

Trashed it directly, this time.

 

Drank coffee.

Munched on a bar of chocolate.

Thought and over thought.

Made weird faces.

Clicked pictures in those weird faces.

Thought of writing it all over again.

Wrote- erased- ate- drank (drinks changed since the evening.)

Hated myself and turned off my computer.

Went back to my novel reading in the night.

 

Tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow.

I think it will creep with its own petty pace..

But nothing happens even tomorrow.

I give up finally, and write whatever comes to me, and submit a paper, which I am really unhappy with! So much for trying to become a writer?

A Writer Without Words!

Today, they introduced me as a writer, and honestly, I did not see that coming. People keep telling me, that I am a writer, but there is some part of me that still does not believe that.

Anyways so there I was being introduced as a writer, and then the irony struck me. The very same morning I was struggling with words to describe what I was feeling, and I failed. Then I tried completing my assignments, failed! And then I started working on a fictional plot, at which I failed again.

I am not talking about the writers’ block, I kept writing, I kept taking notes, I kept typing, but I was not satisfied with it, I still felt that the feelings were unclear, and what I was saying were mere words. But if they were words, then why was I feeling the absence of emotions. And if I had words, then was I not a writer after all? But then only putting words isn’t a writers job, his job is to bring even fiction to reality. So where was I going wrong?

I had words, but still I felt I was not a writer.

On second thoughts, I felt I did not even have the words, all I had was the feeling, the love, the hatred, required for being a writer. The words that I say I wrote, were not mine, they did not justify how I felt, how I wanted things to come out, they simply did a job of being portrayed as a writer’s work. They were just there on paper.

So now, I did not even have words, and yet I was a writer?

 

Emptiness

Seated at the study table I booted my computer. The empty page blinked at me when I typed ‘Writer’s block’. That is what we call it, don’t we? I kept staring at it, the brightness blinded my eyes but I kept ogling at it anyway trying to decipher what to write. My mind worked out nothing. Precipitously, I shut it down and emptied another cup of coffee.

I opened my journal, thinking that may be pen and paper wouldn’t blow me off. I scribbled a few words again and then just before I would edit it, I scratched it off. I scratched I all off. It had made no sense, neither the writing nor my feelings.

Just before the thought of writing it all down, my heart and mind were racing through thoughts, they had wanted to scream out each and every feeling, to drain out all negativity, to refill with a little optimism and just when I accompanied them neither the pen, nor the computer assisted me. So after another hour of empty journal and yet another cup of coffee I stood up and went out in the fresh air.