Dear,
As it happens, as I write to you, I imagine myself sitting in a serene place, writing a piece of prose that would later turn into a good start of a collection of short stories. I imagine myself fighting with words and with my writing flow. I see the battles and the fights and I see myself trying so hard to resist what they call writers' block. Who are they? Why did they come up with such an expression? Wasn't it hard already for a writer to feel it? Did they have to come up with an official expression of how terrible it feels to not be able to write. Block. Writer's block. What kind of words is 'block' anyway? It's cruel and it's so stiff to the ears that you already feel the heavy silence inside you, along with a wave that takes every thought, every feeling, everything.
I apologise to the words, and I apologise to myself, for being so weak in handling writing. Writing used to be my escape. Now it's nothing less than a burden, an assignment I procrastinate writing for as long as I can. I feel terrible. Having said this, I truly miss when writing was an escape route, a shortcut to better days when everything hurt. Everything.
Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.
As it happens, as I write to you, I imagine myself sitting in a serene place, writing a piece of prose that would later turn into a good start of a collection of short stories. I imagine myself fighting with words and with my writing flow. I see the battles and the fights and I see myself trying so hard to resist what they call writers' block. Who are they? Why did they come up with such an expression? Wasn't it hard already for a writer to feel it? Did they have to come up with an official expression of how terrible it feels to not be able to write. Block. Writer's block. What kind of words is 'block' anyway? It's cruel and it's so stiff to the ears that you already feel the heavy silence inside you, along with a wave that takes every thought, every feeling, everything.
I apologise to the words, and I apologise to myself, for being so weak in handling writing. Writing used to be my escape. Now it's nothing less than a burden, an assignment I procrastinate writing for as long as I can. I feel terrible. Having said this, I truly miss when writing was an escape route, a shortcut to better days when everything hurt. Everything.
Yours faithfully and sincerely,
N.
No comments:
Post a Comment