I'm suffering from this common ailment which apparently has no cure. It is called 'the writer's block'.
Now I don't fancy myself as a hot shot writer with a lot of credit behind me, but it has been hurting for quite some time. I,kind of,like to think of myself as an amateur when it comes to writing. Because it has always been my passion and something really close to me. Sure, it was just a bundle of poems(that usually had rhyming verse) and a few short stories(which didn't quite make it to the benchmark that one expects from credible writing); nevertheless,writing it was. And it gave some happiness to think that I had written something.
The pleasure of writing, and I mean literally writing on paper, is unparalleled. I AM a tech freak. I do love gadgets and inventions that make life easier. But, if there is one thing that I hate the computer for, it is because it has stolen the art of writing from me. I seem to have lost the touch of putting a pen on paper and letting my thoughts flow. Scratching out sentences and rewriting words, doodling on the corner of the pages, writing private messages and then blackening them so no one can make out what had been written there- small pleasures of life. And when you 'write' on your personal computer, it is never the same thing.
So,last week, I headed to the store and got myself a lovely,spiral bound hardcover notebook and a new pen,with the hope that this would be a meaningful re-entry into my writing journey. And I sat on my bed for a whole hour without coming up with anything substantial to put down. It frustrated me,it annoyed me,it actually dampened my spirit. I was already wallowing in a lot of misery about various things and this just added fuel to the fire. I slammed the notebook shut and slept over it.
The next day,I tried to think of an explanation for my failure to write. The first thing that struck me was my lack of reading. I had lost the habit for about four years during college,and it hit me. I had never realized that I had let go that easy without being aware of it. Reading was something that I had been born with and now I hadn't touched a book in quite a long time. Shame. And then another fact hit me that seemed a bit worrisome. It had been quite some time(again) since I had had proper conversations in English. Lack of reading and loss of communication skills. Perfect timing.
I dug out the Sherlock Holmes I had kept locked in my bag and settled down with it. And woke up two hours later to find that I hadn't gone past three pages. What was wrong with me! Now,it may seem to you that it is not a big deal. So what if I don't read any more or write some crappy eight line poems. It is not as simple as that,my friend. Considering that once upon a time I used to buy five books a month and borrow books for hundred bucks from the library, it wasn't easy for me to take.
The new notebook plan wasn't working and it ended up becoming my personal diary. Sure, I write a lot in it and my language seems pretty good when putting down my grievances and my grudges. Maybe someday I will publish it as the least selling autobiography ever. But, when I consciously sit to write something meaningful,words fail me. There seems nothing to talk about. Life has been empty the past few months with only music being the reason to go on. And how many posts could I come up with, only on music!
A new blog! I had felt that I had messed up my old blog with many similar-sounding posts,with the singular vein of nostalgia running through them. For me,escaping the past is starting over new. And this blog,here,is new. Today,I've written my first post. Reading this amazes me. It has been so long since I have been able to write more than five sentences. It doesn't matter if it makes no sense. It doesn't matter if my language isn't too flowery and I haven't been able to sound verbose. Putting something down, even if it has involved the electronic media, has been the biggest joy I've had in the last few days. And I hope to be able to come up with something better as the days go by.