Trying a newly opened restaurant in our locality today. While I observe the humanity I am surrounded with, I spot a waiter standing randomly, holding a full plate, looking lost and awkward. I wonder if he is going through some minor Shakespearean quandary. To Serve, or Not to Serve. That is the question.
And while this guy figures out his existential crisis, I am grabbing at a lot of stray thoughts and trying to string them together to form a cohesive thought process.
So, it has been a year - maybe more - since I wrote something really good. Let's say its name and end the "it-shall-not-be-named" phobia. The Writers' Block. Yes, it deserves capitalization.
What happens? A lot of things. The brain continues to churn thoughts, ideas, innovative and creative things, stories etc. But the other part of the brain which forms words and sentences, stops functioning.
The purpose of this rant is not to provide a definition of Writers' Block. Google it if you don't know. The reason this is the main topic of interest here today, is all the frustration that a writer or a person who lives for writing goes through.
Too much going through the mind. Too many unspoken incidents.
Where to begin?
Yes, it has been a year or more since I wrote something really good.
It has been 2 months since I slept.
All thoughts gather together and dance inside my head all night. If I fall asleep, they form into nightmares and wake me up. So I started staying awake. Best way to avoid getting nightmares. Don't sleep.
Writing is like oxygen for me. Good, bad, ugly, happy, sad...everything needs to be expressed by writing. Hopefully, tonight I will finally sleep well.
So, what keeps me awake.
Like an endless ocean, wave after wave hits the minds eye, creating pictures out of memory. The elation and laughter. The pain and tears. The fear of being hurt. Everything takes form of little ghosts which dance around me. Like a movie being played on endless loop in a dome theater and I am in free-fall, not knowing if this is a bottomless pit or I am going to land on a cushioned floor. Or just crash land, bang in the middle of another nightmare.
Sometimes, a small and inconspicuous incident makes you go over to the other side. The Block just vanishes. As if it was always made of vapour. All you had to do was reach out and brush it away. But just moments before you were banging your head against it and it refused to budge. Like a stubborn brick wall. I don't know how it works. But that is how it is.
The phobia of losing what you love most is poignant when you have, at least once, lost what you loved most. We all make certain sacrifices in life. That is part of growing up. Thankfully, very few people have to go through the pain of not just sacrificing their dreams, but actually murdering the most important dream with their own hands. And when you have done it once, managed to re-build your life after that and dared to dream again.......it is scary to think that your dream is turning into a nightmare again.
No. I am writing again. It is ok. It is emotional. It is imperfect. But it is heartfelt. The dream is still alive. It is more a reality than it was. And it definitely isn't a nightmare.
Hopefully, tonight I will finally sleep well.
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