Writing has alway been something that comes naturally to me. I get a brilliant idea for a new character or a new storyline, and I try to take as many notes as possible so that I can actually remember it for later. Of course, many characters have come and gone, many without a second thought, but some with a sigh and a bit of sadness. It is how I live through other people, without being deemed a psychopath. It is how I create worlds to escape in, minds which are different from mine, and yet so alike. Of course, inspiration is a fickle creature: J.K. Rowling was on the train when the world of Harry Potter first popped into her head. I first thought of Lola Rose Jones when I was walking down to the local supermarket. It was a drizzly day, and I had just watched James Bond and I wondered what I would do if someone attacked me from behind. I wondered what I would have done if I was an assassin and someone attacked me from behind. Teenage assassin? Huh. I thought. And thus Lola Rose Jones was born.
Funnily enough, that was one of the last good ideas I have had in a while. I was rewriting one of my older story – with the odd title The Glimmer (actually and extention of the short story The Choice) – and it was going well, but I hit that glitch. You know that glitch, when you feel like all your vocabulary has been used up and you find yourself over-using the same word over and over again? When you have to re-describe a scenario over three times because you feel the first two times jut couldn’t fit. Then you re-read the parts you’ve written, finding loopholes and stupid little errors in regards to character or storyline. Then you just feel frustrated, or get a better idea and completely abandon that story, abandon the love and time and effort you put into it, swearing one day that you will come back to it. These stories are a part of me, and I can’t even finish them off. *sad violin strings for an emotional moment*
Short stories and poetry are a different matter all together. I like my short stories to have an impact, give a little shock to those reading it. The last essay I wrote for one of my favourite English teacher called ‘Perception‘ is a story like that. It shocks, and it disgusts people. I found people were far more reactive to this than to one of my more humorous stories, like ‘What a Strange Meeting‘ my very first unintentional fanfic. So that’s what I aimed to do. Rise conflicting emotions through the power of words.
But since the summer, since my exams, I have found it diffficult to write. I attributed it to writer’s block; clearly the exams was a stresser, and all I needed was to destress. When destressing didn’t do the trick, I figured it must have been the lack of inspiration: I started getting more into movies and books and tv series. I started noting down conversations I had with my mum about history, hoping one day I could write something about that. I started this blog, gushing about the things I love and the people I like.
But for some reason, it doesn’t seem to be working. I haven’t gotten a decent idea since Lola, and even if I got a sliver of an idea, I clutch at it and over-work it (Like I did with ‘a Winter’s Ghost‘) and come out with something that even I know isn’t my usual standard. Is it possible for a talent to leave you? Like losing the ability to sing or dance or something? Because, in all fairness, writing was all I could do. Writing was the one thing I was good at, my plan B for everything. And if I lose that one small thread of hope I had for survival, then the phrase ‘sucking at life’ would because a bit too literal for my liking. Pun intended.
I got some pretty good advice on how to overcome it, but for now, I am going to work on my degree, and work on this blog, then maybe, just maybe, it’ll all come back to me. If you have any advice, please feel free to leave a comment. Please.
And that concludes today’s little rant.
Until next time,
PS: if anyone is interested, I have some more literal stuff hanging around on deviantART. Check it out.