Writing can be so hard sometimes
Every morning, I wake up bursting with ideas and topics just waiting to be explored. Yet, as soon as I step into the world, reality pulls me in, and my focus evaporates. When I do manage to write, it often feels reactionary, veering away from those initial sparks of inspiration.
It’s time to break this cycle. I want to capture my thoughts first thing in the morning, laying the groundwork for later. Instead, my analytical mind kicks into gear, drowning out my creativity with a flurry of problem-solving. The issues that plague me are vast and nebulous, and I seldom tackle them head-on, which leads to frustration and, at times, a touch of mild depression. Today, I set out to write about the struggle of writing itself, hoping to reclaim my initial spark.
As I woke up this morning, a sense of possibility washed over me—a blank slate, waiting to be filled. I spent time mulling over my writing, and a title came to me almost instantly. I quickly wrote it down, determined to hold onto it, no matter how much my wandering mind tried to divert me.
After battling a brutal sinus-induced migraine for a few hours, I finally turned on my MacBook, ready to indulge in the title that had captured my attention earlier. Looking out, I see a stunning day unfolding. I have a physical therapy appointment this afternoon, a chance to step outside and soak up some of that sunshine. Who knows what other topics might blossom from it?
I still lean on the straw man writing method—returning to titles to build them out as my thoughts settle. Stream-of-consciousness flows through my writing too, capturing the first ideas that emerge before I go back and refine them. Editing is a beast of its own; it demands patience as I figure out the best way to express my thoughts. I often find myself trimming over a thousand words down to five hundred, at times without even realizing it. I remind myself that creativity thrives without the pressure of deadlines. I don’t need to publish daily unless it’s genuinely valuable, and I haven’t yet reached that level of productivity. But I have hope for the future.
When I write, I crave peace. A noisy environment stifles my creativity, which is part of why the local writer's group has lost its charm. Attendance has dwindled, and I haven’t signed up for any future sessions. I find myself preferring the quiet of home, where I can carve out a space for concentration. At the moment, I’m settled at the kitchen table while Hal naps, gearing up for our outing later. I may not finish this piece before my shower and appointment, but it’s a promising start.
Ultimately, I aspire to be a dedicated writer, even though I’m now confronted with obstacles. The biggest challenge? Cultivating the discipline to remain focused and to express my unique perspective instead of echoing what’s already been said. As I mentioned, creativity isn’t bound by deadlines; it flourishes in its own time. I want my writing to be both entertaining and informative, not just a platform for regurgitated ideas.
In the midst of all that’s happening around me, I remind myself to stay present and focused on what lies right in front of me.