Finally, trying is what writing’s about.
Like every author I don’t have an endless amount of inspiration. I can’t really rely on this mysterious lady. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to, It’s just impossible. Usually, this mood when sentences arrange themselves and the only thing I have to do is follow up and note to save them as a base for future texts shows up periodically. To be clear, I have enough thoughts to regularly write for about three weeks and then something strange happens. Black hole appears in my mind, which completely turns off this module responsible for imagination in my brain and causes that I am feeling empty.
And well this stage is definitely one of the worst.
The world starts to look gloomy and I instantly start to fight it. As an author, I try to make it inspiring. I want to, because I can’t stand it and I have to if I want my blog to grow, which is associated with publishing content regularly. However, sometimes every bit of inspiration would require enormous sacrifice.
One day, when everything seemed so shitty and I haven’t published anything for five days. I started to analyze lives of famous writers. And even if it sounds stupid, I got inspired by Ernest Hemingway’s habits. One of the worst, which I could chose and I got heavily drunk. Just to write something. (Hopefully my father won’t read this story.) I know that It was ridiculous and under pressure of very exhausting hangover I decided to never ever do it again. But well…It worked. Obviously, my publication that day was too emotionally and a bit depressing. Maybe more than “a bit” because next day when I was feeling like dried fruit in an oven, my friends called me to ask is everything all right and how am I feeling.
But after all I think that this not secure and not even sexy process of exploiting my body, mind and humanity is some kind of purpose for a writer.
I found out that this kind of being periodically inspired to write something meaningful for others is caused by divided life of an author.
First we look at the picture of what is around us. We try to experience every taste, even if it is bitter and every sound, even if it causes headache just to write. Obviously, alcohol is not a way and It can easily turn into addiction. Being depressed shouldn’t been solved by any kind of drug, but on the other hand if I’m aware of its influence and know stuff. I can try. Finally, trying is what’s writing about.