To get over writers block, I write about writers block. Everything went wrong from the start. A late wake-up, traversing an hour of the fixed time-table in slumber, meant trouble timing the target with normal routine till the end of the day. Time to worry about that later, more urgent thing was just to sit down and write. First there was a tangle on the right word to begin, but it wasnt invented at the end of an hour even, creating a sentence turned a distant dream and thoughts went astray. Bitter disappointment it is to encounter an empty sheet for an hour. She craved for inspiration, or precisely, something to begin with. A hope burst in on that ample sunlight and frickling haze of outdoors may fill her with Gods breaths that take form of thoughts, and then precise words in endless streams. There was beauty in abundance, everywhere. A pair of doves flew overhead, blue dragonflies hovered upon thistle-down, sparrows chirped, sunlight glinted, breeze blew gently, but Gods breath unavailable! Words remain locked up at some unknown, dark corner of brain vault, making the head too heavy to bear. She lowered it. She is guilty. Jumbled thoughts and empty white sheet mock at her. She may break down.
Posted on: Sat, 06 Dec 2014 09:37:25 +0000
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