Writer’s Block
where I write
Or shall I say, where I used to write. <sigh>
For I have been struck by what I believed, I was totally exempt from.
The most colossal WRITER’S BLOCK.
Others wrote about it, suffered through it, bemused… but I, I wrote almost every day. For close to two years. I always had tips and cues to give to those who wished to overcome. Read, try writing to prompts, get inspired by a picture, etc. After all, I had never experienced this gaping void in my every waking moment, the handicapped helplessness of the futile attempts and reattempts. I had never felt this incomplete before.
In the meanwhile, life goes on. I sleep in the same bed and wake up to the same alarm. In between that time, I sit in bed for hours trying to rekindle those 2 am rhymes. Like a blank slate that has no story to tell, none come to mind. As if my feelings cut all ties with my thoughts. I toss and turn, under the weight of this tragic separation.
Over the past three months, trust me, I have tried. I have tried to take time out from the chaos of my day and just sit here. Perhaps a change of location helps. After all, I often wrote many a verse on this chaise. Feet up, with the background hum of familiar television series, I used to park myself here, strumming away at the keys of my heart. Occasionally I’d glance up to peer through the array of words and watch a couple of scenes of my favorite shows.
But alas! Today, no such luck.
I give up. Get on with my day. Just for a bit, I stop to stare at the desk I wrote on. Lonely and lost, she looked abandoned and lifeless without me.
So yeah, that’s where I’m at off late. Somewhere between, I just can’t, and I know I will.
They say, you can’t think yourself out of a writing block; you have to write yourself out of a thinking block.
Here I am. Doing just that!
In late but honest response to this prompt.
© 2018, T. Kagalwalla. All Rights Reserved.
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