|Writer's Block (standard:Editorials, 565 words)|
|Author: Lori||Added: May 20 2007||Views/Reads: 1880/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The title says enough.|
Writer's Block By: Lori I think the title is self-explanatory. A writer tries to break through the dreadful feelings of writer's block. _______________________________________________________________________ We go through it at one time or another. The awful notion of having something to say, but not being able to get it down on paper. The demoralized emotion of looking inside yourself and not finding a glimpse of life. The stillness, in your head, is so deafening because you're so used to it being filled with people screaming, wanting their stories told. This sentiment is called writer's block. The objective is to overcome these feelings and pen something brilliant and insightful. But, what would happen if we couldn't? What would our lives be like if the characters in our heads decided to take a long break from their reality and accentual your own? I'm so used to calling myself a writer. What would I call myself if the marvelous artistic creation of writing is lost to me? I'm not an author because I haven't finished a book (finished is the key word). I'm not a composer because I can't write poetry or songs, even though I've tried. I'm not a journalist because I don't report the news. I'm not one for writing diaries, so I'm not a diarist. Will I be a “normal” person? I hate that word. What is “normal” and who defines the word? Or will they call me deranged if I'm catch talking to myself? I do this anyway, it's just that now no one is answering me back. So, what will I be? What will my life be without the triumphs I find in writing? Even doing this meaningless task of trying to overcome writer's block is demanding for me. I get ideas but when I put them down on paper they either sound stupid, or they don't flow right. Or I have to fight so hard to get the words out I feel like a failure for even trying to write something in the first place. My life feels so vacate and immaterial. For so long I've dreamed of being a fabulous authoress. I want to give the world my sentiments and make it a better place to live. I have a hunger to see my name on something people will read and find inspirational and heartfelt. I want to give back to the world of literature everything I've taken from it and make my mark on it. I'm not doing it for the fame and fortune. I can live without both of these things. I find that when you want something for impure reasons you get the bad attributes from it. That's why I strive to be better then that. I want to do it for the right reasons to be honored in the correct way. My mother had a dream a few weeks ago. In it she comes to my house to find me. She had been at an awards banquet in honor of me. I had written a book and won and award for it. I didn't go because I didn't like the book. Since finding this out every idea in my head has dried up. So, I ask myself: is it the fear of succeeding holding me back? Or is it something else? I'll have to figure that out to overcome this block of doom and despair. © February 23, 2007 Tweet
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