Archive for February, 2013

Writing is a disingenuous muse. A fair-weather friend. Happy to roll off the tongue when the sun is shining, but less inclined to rouse itself from under the covers when a cool temperament has taken hold.

 

Getting back into writing is akin to stage fright. All the lines are perfectly rehearsed but as soon as the spotlight starts burning, sweat trickles down my back and I become fluent in gibberish. I can’t say I have writer’s block because I’ve never really considered myself to be a writer. I’m more a collector of thoughts. A soundboard for lunacy.

 

My writing malaise is seemingly an addiction. I’m aware I have a problem. Apparently acceptance is the first step. But knowing you have a problem doesn’t stop you from ignoring it just the same. Sadly I’ve been swept along by the current of denial.

 

Writing was, or should be, one of my favourite pastimes. An escape from the by the numbers 9 to 5 tomfoolery. My mind was a crack shot at creating decibels out of silence. Creative tangents in a linear reality.

 

The well of ideas is a yawning chasm. The bucket lies in the dust disused and ignored. A reminder that thirst is fleeting. You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink. Still waters run deep. I take a deep breath and dive in. That’s just a convoluted way of saying I have been bitten by the writing mosquito and it feels so good to scratch.

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