Monday, December 16, 2013

Writers' block

After a hiatus of few days, today she forces herself to write. She realises that she has gradually gotten rid of the healthy addiction. It’s been a while since she opened MS Word. Today, she is in no mood to let herself go. She reluctantly opens her computer to write something, but she begins to socialize with folks on Facebook. Then she kicks herself and exclaims, “I’m supposed to write! But wait! What do I write about! I’m so dry for ideas today.” The word ‘ideas’ frightens her. She has to conceive of ideas to write stories at work too. But she loves ideating to write some teeny-weeny stories, that she really enjoys writing. But her brain plays spoilsport today. Nothing is inspiring for the tired soul. She doesn’t want to give up. She thinks hard. She thinks of the work that is peaceful these days. She thinks of her family that’s even more peaceful of late. She thinks of friends. They are those same old weirdos and too-busy-with-life guys. She thinks of current affairs. Talwars and Tejpal are beyond her comprehension. She looks at her pet dog with a sense of belief. At least, will that old boy come to her rescue to help her with some inspiration to pen a few words? Negative! The fur baby is fast asleep. He looks like he is dreaming of chasing off a bunch of dogs on the streets. She switches on the TV. There is this old actor called Livingstone, who walks in woods, as he sings a romantic number and his love-interest is mesmerized. Sigh! She checks time again. It’s 1.10 am. It’s witching hour. Witching hour! The term is a not-so-good one. She is reminded of the thriller that she watched the previous day. It wasn’t scary. But it makes her feel eerie now. She flushes the thought out forcefully. She thinks hard this time around. There are a lot about people that she wants to write. The absurdities, generosity, compassion, passion, love and lust fascinate her. When she began to think, there was no thought that impressed her. Now after having pushed herself, she has too many thoughts that raise hands and say, “Write about me! Me! Me!” She wipes off all of it. The strong urge to attack the keyboard incessantly hasn’t surfaced yet, she reckons. That compelling thought, which should do the much-needed arm-twisting hasn’t emerged yet, she believes. It’s yet another day. Writing just doesn’t happen regardless of how genuinely she attempts. She throws her imaginary pen. She tears off her imaginary paper. She scratches her imaginary unkempt hair. She comforts herself, as she says, “It’s okay. There is a tomorrow. I shall try again!” Before she lets her mind to rest, she ascertains that it’s 461 words long already! :)

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