My mind is due to explode!
I write. I have written ever since I can remember. I may not be of much use vocally, but words are my passion.
SO, WHY IS IT THAT WHENEVER I AM ASKED TO WRITE, MY MIND CRAMPS?
For the first time in my life, I have been praised for my efforts and invited to write for a magazine. I can write as freely as I please, and as often as I wish, and suddenly, I cannot write a sentence. I feel like a huge thumb is pressing my forehead, restricting my creativity. My body is ecstatic, my brain is in meltdown, and yet, I sit here, scraping all I can gather in a pathetic attempt to break this restraint.
Perhaps, this is not me.
Perhaps, the topic is too truthful. Can I really write as freely as I wish? That means I would have to face matters that I am not ready to face.
Writing is a lonely past-time, and nobody is holding my hand.
That's the answer - Nobody is holding my hand, but I hold then pen! The pen needs my support!
Can I do that?
My pen has been my best friend since day 1. I can do that.
What if what I write is irrelevant? What if it does not satisfy what is required? What if it is ANOTHER pathetic attempt?
FAIL!
COME ON GEM! YOU CAN DO THIS!
So, I put pen to paper. My mind still wanders, and words fly carelessly around, lost and bewildered, and I am closer to breaking point.
I never did cope well under pressure. I combust! I feel the bubbles rise and the steam amount, and writing is now the last thing on my mind...
I NEED A BREAK!
I write. I have written ever since I can remember. I may not be of much use vocally, but words are my passion.
SO, WHY IS IT THAT WHENEVER I AM ASKED TO WRITE, MY MIND CRAMPS?
For the first time in my life, I have been praised for my efforts and invited to write for a magazine. I can write as freely as I please, and as often as I wish, and suddenly, I cannot write a sentence. I feel like a huge thumb is pressing my forehead, restricting my creativity. My body is ecstatic, my brain is in meltdown, and yet, I sit here, scraping all I can gather in a pathetic attempt to break this restraint.
Perhaps, this is not me.
Perhaps, the topic is too truthful. Can I really write as freely as I wish? That means I would have to face matters that I am not ready to face.
Writing is a lonely past-time, and nobody is holding my hand.
That's the answer - Nobody is holding my hand, but I hold then pen! The pen needs my support!
Can I do that?
My pen has been my best friend since day 1. I can do that.
What if what I write is irrelevant? What if it does not satisfy what is required? What if it is ANOTHER pathetic attempt?
FAIL!
COME ON GEM! YOU CAN DO THIS!
So, I put pen to paper. My mind still wanders, and words fly carelessly around, lost and bewildered, and I am closer to breaking point.
I never did cope well under pressure. I combust! I feel the bubbles rise and the steam amount, and writing is now the last thing on my mind...
I NEED A BREAK!
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