I Do It Quite Often 😉
Let me get straight to the point, writing has been challenging for me. It’s been tough.
Not because of its creative challenges, but its peripheral challenges. (You know what I mean, don’t you?)
Followers, likes, claps, subscribers and what not. And the real challenge arises when I worry about them.
That’s when I face a block. A mental block. I can’t move on. I get restless. And trust me, I can never write when I’m in a mood like that.
Writing is a beautiful art that doesn’t need adulteration. That’s why I prefer super duper balanced mindsets for writing. Rather than afflicted and panicked ones.
They’re the worse!
A Writer Without Writing
In the loud noise and chaos, I usually forget why I came here. Mostly because I love to write.
And when I stray from that path, or I get distracted, I don’t feel right.
And I’ve always avoided this fact, but it’s the truth.
I get stuck in the statistics page. I get stuck in the follower counter. I get stuck in the notification bell, waiting for it to ring.
And that takes me away from my home. That is writing itself.
Instead of writing, I’m thinking about everything!
I need more clickbaits. They could be of help!
I must have an eBook to sell!
The subscriber count isn’t growing. Something has to be done.
I should freelance after I’m done with XIIth grade.
Why is my follower count going down!
These thoughts seem so important that they absorb me completely! They take my attention away from what really matters.
Many times I’ve had crazy ideas like following random people. Although I rejected this idea a long time ago.
And yet again, I was equally desperate! Even more than last time.
The content I wrote made me worry. Was I into the game too early? Should I have waited? Am I exhausting all my ideas right in the beginning?
Will ideas strike me? And that too at the right time? When I’ll be really needing them? God knows.
It was the perfect writer’s block. In fact, it is a mild depression for a writer. At least for me.
Will I be able to make it?
Am I even supposed to be here?
Is my work even worth the attention?
Have I made a mistake?
Negative self-talk. To grave thinkers, these questions will seem very important. Worth thinking over. But for me, they’re useless. It’s just negative self-talk.
The self-doubt eats me up. I would prefer an anaconda swallowing me up rather than worrying slowly killing me. Chews me up slowly as I moan in pain!
(Extra figures of speech! That’s neat!)
In such a crisis, I forget that I’m a writer. And I’m supposed to write.
What got me out of this infinite loop? Shutting everything down.
Every daunting thought. Every allegation. Every criticism. Every single trace of it.
“Who gives a damn! I don’t care what happens! I’m here to write. I’ve come this far trusting the spirit of writers. And I’ll continue ahead the same way. There’s nothing I need to fear!”
After this, everything quietened itself.
There was no more chatter or negative churning. Everything fell quiet.F
There was an upsurge of confidence and vigor in me.
I could sense more aliveness. More confidence. More everything!
It felt as if I had just rediscovered a hidden dimension within me. It was homely. That’s all I can say.
I was back! Back in the place where I’d started from! The same place which is the start and is an end in itself!
Where have I been running all along?
“For me, going home meant returning to the work of writing. Because writing was my home. I loved writing more than I hated failing at writing.”
— Elizabeth Gilbert
I had found my lost love again! I had made a comeback. And now I was back home, back to writing. Back to the love of writing.
No matter how many times I fail, I can still carry on with the art. Carry on with writing.
Because I know the source of the undisturbed flow of creativity. For me, it’s writing.
For you, it could be writing code for your program, or sitting in front of your drawing sheets and holding the brush steady.
For all artists, their art is their meditation. When they write, paint, etc., they’re relaxed. They find themselves at home. Cozy. Comfortable.
In daily life, I am doing all the stuff. There‘s a me stuffed in. But the art flows through us. It happens.
The writer doesn’t write. The story tells itself through him/her.
The painter doesn’t paint. The strokes come out through him/her.
The musician doesn’t sing. The song sings itself through him/her.
I get to unburden myself from the doer-ship. And thus, every artist feels bliss after doing his.her true work.
This incident taught me to enjoy the process. To come back home. To let myself fall for writing.
And no matter how many times I stray, I know I’m going get back here. Every time.
Because this is my true homecoming.