When the Steam Wanes
It has been more than two weeks now
since I did serious writing. I have not had the momentum to pen my thoughts lately
because of the sudden change in our routine and the minor disruption in our
life right now as a result of taking a sick family member home with us. I have
lost much sleep as well so much so that I need to take my Mosegor Vita again
just so I could catch some sleep.
It has been a helter-skelter week
indeed. Hub has been going to and fro, driving, running some errands, and
likewise setting aside for the time being his assignments. I have been on a
spin as well, tagging along with him and doing some chores especially in the
kitchen. My lovey (writing, what else?) has been placed in the back burner for
now. Indeed, when you lose your train of
thoughts because the environment is no longer conducive to writing, it is just
difficult to start again. It is like going back to the drawing board once more
and exerting much effort to gather one’s thoughts and pen them.
But is there I can do over things
beyond my control?
I believe this setback is just
temporary. And soon I will let my thoughts fly again. For now, I will have to
content myself with a little strike here and a little kick there just to prep
up my grey matter for more writing challenges that await me.
I have been feeling the needle pricks
once more as a result of my “neglect” in my writing regimen. I have had a good
start, so far, but issues of consistency and continuity crop up. What good then
is a talent if one cannot show consistency in his craft? Writing is not a
one-time big-time thing. It is a product of a habit—of constant and regular
pushing, of perseverance and commitment (no matter how cliché it may get.)
I understand, that a writer writes… without
buts and excuses. There are a thousand ways to kill a cat, so to speak, and a
myriad ways to get the writing mind at work.
The simplest and the best
advice yet, is this:
Just do it.
And I have done so… at a fast pace, and in
just one sitting. Now.
But what about tomorrow? And the
next day? And the next? Will I still be able to develop a masterpiece? One that
is a product of the genius (if there was ever such) within? Will I be able to
get the flow of words gush again from a spring of inexhaustible source? Will
the writer again show up, with a smile on her face, passion in her heart, and
fire in her gut?
I just wish I could get up every
day with the chutzpah and enthusiasm of a champion.
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