Photo by Adam Bixby on Unsplash

For a while now, my mind, the one capable of stringing strange and wonderful words together like a bunting and heralded as a creative thing, has wandered off and been unknown to me. I’ve put some thought into it, and it’s almost as if it’s mad at me. Mad that I made it work so hard, pushed it to write more than I’ve ever written before in such a short period of time. Mad that it actually created something so beautifully unfathomable to me (an entire poetry manuscript), that it decided to go on an unplanned holiday. Almost like it posted a sign in its place, turning my skull into an empty cavern, stating that it has gone on strike.

Well, it’s been a 4-months strike now—I think, as numbers were never for me. It’s time to drag my creative mind back, lay down some ground rules, and get back to work.

I guess this is just my funny way of saying that I’m sick of my mind being empty. Unwilling to process complex thoughts and ideas. Unable to place words together without them seeming forced. So, I’m trying my best to push myself into a daily practice. I was always bad at sticking to daily writing, but I’m at the stage where I need to write something. Badly written words are still words written.

And now, I’m taking this moment to reflect, create a goal, and put it into writing. (This goes towards my daily writing practice, right? Right.) But I’ve never really felt pressured by goals and public accountability before. The thoughts and the actuality of struggling to get even a half-decent sentence out has frustrated me to my wits’ end. I need to vent. I need to state my intentions.

I need this to work.

All I ever really think about is words.

Whether it’s about reading, journaling, writing. It’s all words.

Why did I let that end? Why did my mind wander off?

I miss being around words. Being a part of them. I miss being the person that has never let my love for words falter. And it did falter. I let myself go empty, echoes resounding in the cavern. I let the fire of conviction splutter out. But at the same time, I let myself get burnt up in the flames. I have let myself be consumed with doubts, and I don’t like that. I was always head-down with my passions of pursuing words.

I need that back.

And so, with this rant-y, super-stream-of-consciousness piece coming to its end, I want to leave it off with this one thought to consume all others:

            I WILL WRITE.

            AND I WILL NOT STOP.

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