Writing and living, and living and writing.
Re: writer’s block.
It was the 3rd of September when I realised: it’s happening again. I’ve forgotten how to write.
I’ve forgotten how to put one word in front of the other and make a coherent sentence, perhaps even a beautiful one. How to use the appropriate spacing and dashes and semi-colons.
How to overthink my sentences and the 200 different ways it can be misconstrued — did I forget to add the “disclaimer”? How to think of nuances and dig deeper to what touches the core of our shared humanity.
How to cling and clang away at QWERTY. How to erase an entire paragraph and start all over because who am I kidding and besides, who cares? How to go on Google dot com and type in “thesaurus + word” because I’ve used the same one too many times and it’s beginning to look wEiRd.
How to feel deeply, and as a result, give someone else permission to do the same. How to make words sing, like the tonic solfa my late father would play on his grand piano. I had even forgotten how to scribble in my journal (which no one will ever see, thank you very much) on which guy I thought was cute, how proud I was of the cake I baked that evening and how starry tonight’s sky was.
How to hold a felt-tip pen and let the words roll off its edge, desperate to break free, rising to a crescendo — after all, I am but a vessel.
How to let sheer imagination strap me to its seat, brimming, heart racing, as I hold steady for THE ride of my life, the umpteenth one, because it never gets old — ready, set, go!
Maybe my imposter syndrome was right.
“I write because I don’t know what I think until I read what I say.” — Flannery O’Connor
jk; new post next week!
I remember first reading your work maybe circa 2015, or 16, or some timeline nestled in between. A flash fiction piece that left me stunned at the time.
"Her beauty was unfair, un-fair, an ebony thing, but that wasn't why I loved her".
It was a spectacular opening, and probably what tipped the scales towards you winning the whole damn thing. When I stumbled upon you on Twitter years later, I remembered that line and had to follow you; and well, here we are.
You should write fiction again sometime, you presumably haven't done it aeons, but I doubt you'd miss a beat.