There are no words
I love to write.
Except when I hate to write.
I love to write when the topic hits me just right and my hands fly over the keyboard, barely pausing to think of just the right word. The sentences flow naturally and gracefully, swirling into each other, forming these perfect little paragraphs that say exactly what I mean to say the way I mean to say it. When it’s harmonious like that it brings me a lot of joy.
I hate to write when it feels forced. It’s painful to sit still when I’m distracted and unable to focus on one topic, one thought, one sentence. Sometimes I try to pluck the perfect words out of the air, but they’re just out of my reach, mocking me for my ineptitude. “You call yourself a writer? Not!”
Lately it feels forced.
It’s been a struggle. I can’t focus; I’m all over the place. I sit down, open my laptop, log in and…well, nothing, really. I type a few words, stare at the screen, remember that I wanted to vacuum the bedroom, and before you know it, I’ve gone off on 10 different tangents. The dogs need water. I need to water the plants. I should really take the recycling out.
Anything but writing.
I don’t have to do this. I don’t have to write every day. I shouldn’t put something out there just for the sake of doing it. But I love to put words on a page. I just hate when they’re stubborn and won’t cooperate.
What do I do?
What do you do?
When the writing doesn’t flow, I read. I get a fat paper and read all the tiny little filler stories because some of them spark big blog posts. I read the other stories, too of course. I read magazines. I scroll around the internet and look at BBC news or CNN news — especially the “diversions” or human interest type stuff. AND – I read blogs because blogs are usually the best way to get inspired. And if all that doesn’t work, sometimes I get out some old photos and write about an incident from way back and scan the photo to go with the post. Hope some of that helps!