It occurs to me that we all have times like these in our lives - times when we feel nearly strangled by the muted footsteps of the monotonous and the ordinary. No great revelations come to mind; no remarkable events challenge previous thoughts; no person inspires a wave of fluid emotion translated into a line of poetry. In the exhaustion and the unceasing pattern that can be our lives, sometimes we lack anything to share. We just exist and keep moving forward, trying to reach something that has more clear meaning or purpose than the daily events that become so tiresome.
Perhaps only writers feel this emptiness, this white slate of thought. Those who do not ever attempt to write will never feel its absence, yet those who do will feel this lack keenly - like a bedroom without a bed or a gym without equipment. There is something clearly missing - the daily discovery of new trains of thought that make each day intriguing and a lesson in growing experiences and character. Yet it is in times like these that I am forced to listen to the silence and, even if I am inspired by nothing and write nothing in response, such times of emptiness can have a cleansing affect that will become useful in the future and can occasionally create different thoughts than those caused by actions.
This absence, though often frustrating and noticeably hollow-feeling, is not terribly alarming as time has taught me that it is not lasting. Writing is in my blood, or my mind, and it will return with time. Often, this form of writer's block is caused by nothing more than exhaustion or an increased pace in "real life." More worthwhile thoughts will be inspired in time and with patience. If all else fails, I write about not having anything to write. Works every time.
Writing about not having anything to write...does indeed work, at least this time. :)
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