It’s hard to write. It’s hard being a writer.
It’s hard maintaining a blog. It’s hard falling in love. I know one doesn’t have anything to do with the other. This is just one of those days though when things don’t quite make sense and maybe that’s ok.
Recently, I’ve been waiting to write. It’s not like me to wait to write. I overcame that bad habit a while back; still work has been so crazy that I haven’t been able to generate ideas for this blog the way I used to. I come home and if I don’t continue working, then my eyes start to feel as if the sandman just made a house call. And even when I still have enough energy to write, my brain spins with all the things I am yet to do, and all the deadlines I am yet to meet.
Sometimes I forget. I forget that, first and foremost I am a writer. It is in my bones. Secondly, that I am a fiction writer, first and all other forms come after that. How does one forget these things? By writing for a living. By having to write articles, having to perform poetry, having to dance to the jig of the piper. Don’t get me wrong, I love doing these things too, but stories wake something inside of me; and writing fictional prose frees me in a way nothing else can:
Because there is a girl. And maybe she is beautiful, but maybe she is not. And she wants to find love, she truly wants to find it; yet it slips through her fingers like a loosely held balloon string. She doesn’t find love – instead she finds magic. A magic that allow her to soar beyond the skies, to accomplish impossibilities, to transform herself, to become others, to grow tall and be invincible.
I don’t know if it is possible to accomplish all the things I am trying to accomplish; but I am going to find out. Keep writing!