Writer’s block can happen -- especially when there are deadlines to follow. I keep a strict schedule of posting every Friday, so I often need new ideas fast. But sometimes, the words just don’t flow.
At this point, I’d like to consider myself a writer -- self-proclaimed, yes. Writing has become part of my DNA. I love putting my feelings into words; it helps me regulate my emotions and discover myself along the way. Though most of what I write are personal reflections, I do hope people find comfort in them, that they see parts of themselves through my thoughts. Honestly, I can’t imagine not writing.
I once read that to be a good writer, you must read widely and deeply. I take that as my lifelong homework. To always read, relate, and learn. Writing isn’t as effortless as people might think. It’s rarely just a brain dump. It’s often planned, outlined, and intentionally crafted -- though nine times out of ten, it’s also emotionally woven.
Lately, though, I’ve felt stuck. Uninspired, even. I can write, but the words don’t feel as deep. They skim the surface -- safe, shallow, unrooted. I’ve gone back and forth, starting drafts I never finish because none of them feel right, or good enough, or at least appropriate to share.
It upsets me sometimes. Is this why writers keep ten drafts ready, just to pull one out when inspiration runs dry?
I’ve realized I write best when I’m most vulnerable -- when I’m in the thick of sadness, grief, or immense joy. But I’m not always in those extremes. So what happens when I’m somewhere in between?
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