During my early days in the university I remember trying so hard to write anything—anything that my broken English could muster. There were a lot of drafts and fragments from stories I never had the chance to finish; verses and rhymes from poems I never had the guts to publish. My head was brimming with ideas I didn’t quite know how to put into words, in writing or otherwise. I kept a blog that was composed mostly of small talk and phony paragraphs that would probably make me cringe for the rest of my uneventful life.

Then, by some excellent plot twist, it became easier (no, not the writing because it’s never going to be easy, trust me) to jot down thoughts as years went by. The goal was to write relentlessly (uh and brilliantly* if I’d be so #blessed), to make writing feel as natural as breathing to me. I knew it’s a long shot. I didn’t really meet the target but I believe I reached the part where writing no longer felt like a chore.

There were bad days, of course, when life went off course and I was stuck thinking I wouldn’t be able to write anything in the way I’d had before. The block wasn’t up for very long as I figured out a solution soon enough: the trick was to read/backread entries of bloggers I look up to, draw inspiration from my favorite writers and remind myself of the reason I got into the craft in the first place.

Things went from bad to worse when the trick lost its magic. These days when I feel the slightest urge to write—yes, I do write when I can—my thoughts usually get condensed into 140 characters or less. Anything longer than that would require a year-long summoning of the proverbial muse yada yada bullshit which is, as we all know, just a myth. These days when the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, I just shrug it off and get my phone because, man, I intend to watch all nine seasons (200 episodes!) of The X-Files this month to make the most out of my iflix subscription.

This day is an exception, though. It’s the start of an attempt to preempt the superlative. But we’ll never know, I guess, as the cliché goes

prepare for the worst, hope for the best and… God will do the rest?

*I once heard of a Kule writer who “writes brilliantly when he’s drunk” and whoa, hot damn, I want to have what he’s having.


About MG

Black against white.
This entry was posted in College roughage, Nostalgia, Open secrets and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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