Even to the best of us; it happens. To the writer in us, it happens with incredible complexity, coming when you least expect it to and leaving when you don't want it to. One day it's here, the other day it has vanished like smoke.
I am sure it is a thing that comes with time. I remember that when I was younger, ideas came faster and more often — writing was a breeze. Thoughts inside my head felt like a busy street on peak hours. And boy were there shouts! I could write about poetry, passion, comedy, science, fiction, history… and then… blank! As suddenly as it came to me that I can write, and as fast as I put the pen to paper writing short stories, novelettes, poems, essays… my creativity came to an end.
Just like that.
Granted, I still write. But it is not the same. Today's writing involves academic research and it is tied to a thesis and the inquiry of a productive research result. As far as it goes, in terms of creative writing, I have lost the right frame of mind in which to write something outside of a research paper on a topic.
The optimist in me would say that all is not gone. That what I do now makes more sense (even if my intended recipient is an academic who wishes to quickly flick through some pages in order to find some relevant piece of information to include in her or his own research). But, deep inside, I know this and this is not true.
For example, I have contemplated writing a book several times in my life. Up until now, it would be other things that caused me to stop — usually it had something to do with my obsessive-compulsive nature of doing several things at once. I had to be creative in everything — music, poetry, card and table game design. There was not one creative thing that I did not try at least once. Several of them I enjoyed. Most of them I tried again.
Yet now, what causes me to stop is sheer apathy. A complete writer’s block. As if writing about anything other than research on the nature and perception of identity would cause the brain inside to shrink and/or disintegrate. Or does it?
I don’t know the facts (and don’t quote me on the shrinking brain issue), but I know that as days, months and years go by, I can write less and less. The elephants in my room have gone cold, and I no longer see the curtains as inspiration, but for what they are: Curtains. They say that the most serious thing that a writer can lose is their imagination. Or sense of humour. And I think I have lost both.
A dear friend told me recently, after I told her what I thought was a witty joke: ‘God, we need to work on your humour. Fast!’ I came back to her with a 'witty' one-liner that managed to be even worse. And then it came to me. I am changing. If that person, who used to love my humour and imagination, honestly thought that I have lost it, then perhaps I have!
If I could, I would put an ad online: Elephants in the room (or any kind of imagination for the matter) — highly sought after. If you’ve seen one, let me know. I’ll pay in words.
Then again, that’s what I have been paying with, for my entire life. Words is all I have, yet words are never enough. Or so it seems.
It might be just a bad week, but be patient with me and this blog. Often it is more of a big undertaking than I expected it to be. I have to commit to it, because it will help me never 'lose it' again. As much as it is there for your enjoyment, it is here for my preservation and perserverence (that's quite a few 'p'-'r'-'s'-'v'-'r' words). And prese-perse I must.
I am thinking of picking up work on a book translation from English to Greek or vice-versa. Which books of literature did you like the most recently? Perhaps you can be my source of inspiration this time around.
August is now with us, I hear. Enjoy August. I’ll stay inside, fully air conditioned. 42C does not do good to my fragile wintery heart. Or skin…
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://musingsofavisionary.blogspot.com/p/creative-commons-notice.html.
I am sure it is a thing that comes with time. I remember that when I was younger, ideas came faster and more often — writing was a breeze. Thoughts inside my head felt like a busy street on peak hours. And boy were there shouts! I could write about poetry, passion, comedy, science, fiction, history… and then… blank! As suddenly as it came to me that I can write, and as fast as I put the pen to paper writing short stories, novelettes, poems, essays… my creativity came to an end.
Just like that.
Granted, I still write. But it is not the same. Today's writing involves academic research and it is tied to a thesis and the inquiry of a productive research result. As far as it goes, in terms of creative writing, I have lost the right frame of mind in which to write something outside of a research paper on a topic.
The optimist in me would say that all is not gone. That what I do now makes more sense (even if my intended recipient is an academic who wishes to quickly flick through some pages in order to find some relevant piece of information to include in her or his own research). But, deep inside, I know this and this is not true.
For example, I have contemplated writing a book several times in my life. Up until now, it would be other things that caused me to stop — usually it had something to do with my obsessive-compulsive nature of doing several things at once. I had to be creative in everything — music, poetry, card and table game design. There was not one creative thing that I did not try at least once. Several of them I enjoyed. Most of them I tried again.
Yet now, what causes me to stop is sheer apathy. A complete writer’s block. As if writing about anything other than research on the nature and perception of identity would cause the brain inside to shrink and/or disintegrate. Or does it?
I don’t know the facts (and don’t quote me on the shrinking brain issue), but I know that as days, months and years go by, I can write less and less. The elephants in my room have gone cold, and I no longer see the curtains as inspiration, but for what they are: Curtains. They say that the most serious thing that a writer can lose is their imagination. Or sense of humour. And I think I have lost both.
A dear friend told me recently, after I told her what I thought was a witty joke: ‘God, we need to work on your humour. Fast!’ I came back to her with a 'witty' one-liner that managed to be even worse. And then it came to me. I am changing. If that person, who used to love my humour and imagination, honestly thought that I have lost it, then perhaps I have!
If I could, I would put an ad online: Elephants in the room (or any kind of imagination for the matter) — highly sought after. If you’ve seen one, let me know. I’ll pay in words.
Then again, that’s what I have been paying with, for my entire life. Words is all I have, yet words are never enough. Or so it seems.
It might be just a bad week, but be patient with me and this blog. Often it is more of a big undertaking than I expected it to be. I have to commit to it, because it will help me never 'lose it' again. As much as it is there for your enjoyment, it is here for my preservation and perserverence (that's quite a few 'p'-'r'-'s'-'v'-'r' words). And prese-perse I must.
I am thinking of picking up work on a book translation from English to Greek or vice-versa. Which books of literature did you like the most recently? Perhaps you can be my source of inspiration this time around.
August is now with us, I hear. Enjoy August. I’ll stay inside, fully air conditioned. 42C does not do good to my fragile wintery heart. Or skin…
This original work by Amadeus In Denial is licensed under a Creative Commons (Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike 3.0) License. All work created 2006-2011.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://musingsofavisionary.blogspot.com/p/creative-commons-notice.html.
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