Coming back

For a few days now I have been thinking about writing again. A few weeks ago I realized that I needed to start writing again. But write what?

For a few days I reflected on this, on what to write? What do people want to read? Do I write for myself or for people? What is the balance point on this bridge that wavers under my feet?

Ten years ago I had a literature blog, writing about books and sometimes some reflections. People read it and some even liked it. Yesterday I finished a fiction book, after many months of reading only non-fiction or children’s books. I felt like writing about it.

But I wanted to tell you a secret, my mind cannot focus on the now, on just now. And so meditation and spirituality have been helping me to put my foot more gently on the ground. But an anxious mind is an anxious mind, and the process is not easy.

Anyway, I thought about writing a review and other reviews of future books, but which books? How to select my next reads? It would be so cool to write about releases again. But do people still read blogs? Medium? In tiktok land is there still room for a longer read about a book that maybe won’t make any difference in your life?

And all these questions paralyzed me.

Those who are anxious and perfectionists understand this very well. Nothing has happened yet, but only the possibility of the future freezes us and prevents us from living or trying.

Then I remembered what made me stop my blog back in the past: I couldn’t and no longer had time to read the books I wanted to. Every week I received boxes of books and new releases, and when I saw those older books or readings I wanted so much to read I couldn’t, because I had to talk about the releases, fulfill the literary partnerships, attract my reader, and the publishing market moves and you have to be as inside it as possible. Since then, I feel that I have moved away from this literary world.

Anyway, all this is to tell you that maybe I will write here again, because after all, writing is a necessity of mine. How often? I don’t know. I suffer from the “I need inspiration” malady, and this is ridiculous, I know. As all poets have said, writing is 99% transpiration and 1% inspiration.

I still don’t think I can run a marathon like I used to, but I can take a little walk around the neighborhood. I’ll try.