There were times when inspiration came like a flood, rushing through my mind so fast that it was extremely difficult to keep up with it. I used to type for hours upon hours, hardly breaking. Each morning I couldn’t wait to finish my schoolwork and wait for Mom to let me use her computer for the afternoon and into the evening, sometimes late into the evening. Exhaustion would always be the result, but it was exhaustion that came from hard work, just like any other hard work.
Writing is hard work. It takes so much out of the writer. It leaves them breathless and mentally, emotionally, and physically tired. What glorious days!
So what happened? Where did all my inspiration go? Why is it so difficult to sit down and type for even five minutes?
I have ideas and newborn plots. I have characters waiting to come to life. But what is keeping me from letting these ideas, plots, and characters flourish?
The other day I was editing some of my work and ignoring the sting of how pathetic my story was. I had written these chapters over a year ago, and at that time I thought they were best of me. I had rewritten, deleted, and added so much to each part and thought that I was so close to being finished. However, now that it has been a year, and I have grown as a reader/writer, I see how horrible my story really is and how much work it needs before I can begin to submit it to a publishing house.
And as I read through my novel, I realized how little I took myself seriously as a writer. Yes, I have called myself a writer and believed I was one. My dream is to keep on writing novels and selling them, perhaps become a famous author. But reading through my work I saw how I mocked myself. I would have my characters rattle off some smart remark which I thought was funny, but in truth, was a mockery of how little I took my work seriously.
A change of mindset is in order now.
But what about the lack of inspiration? How can I, who is full of ideas, not be able to sit down and write anything good?
I have tried to write a new story. I refer to the story I had mentioned in my last blog, the one where I was shocked at what I call, my brilliance. And that first part is still there. It’s still good. Yes, it needs some tough-up, but it’s still a good first draft. But I’ve been trying to get beyond it. Trying to actually begin the story. I’ve tried three different approaches. None of them are in the least satisfying. I am searching for a fourth.
Frankly, I’m frustrated. I am really upset at how hard it is to write now. I know that life has changed dramatically since those years sitting in front of my mom’s computer. But there has to be some spark left in me, the writer, to still be able to write.