29th October 17

“Why does one begin to write? Because she feels misunderstood, I guess. Because it never comes out clearly enough when she tries to speak. Because she wants to rephrase the world, to take it in and give it back again differently, so that everything is used and nothing is lost. Because it’s something to do to pass the time until she is old enough to experience the things she writes about.” – Nicole Krauss


a few long and dragging weeks ago, I sat feeling uninspired. I’ve always felt like a person who words came easily to, especially when I was stringing them together to write down on paper. I felt like someone had snuck up behind me without me noticing, and poked a few holes in my head so that all of my creative juices seeped out and disappeared. My brain, which had once felt full of ideas and words, felt empty and quiet.


I told myself that a good way to deal with this sudden deterioration in my inspiration would be to force myself to work harder. To set myself a goal of writing every single day for the next month, to see if this would in some way plaster up the little holes which have formed in my head and help my brain to fill up with ideas again. I thought that forcing myself to think harder was the answer to my uninspired woes.


And I did it. I managed to write every day for a month, which is something which I haven’t done successfully for a very long time. See, I go through these spurts with my creativity where some weeks are easy and inspiration sticks to me like glue, and then the next week I’m suddenly lacking again. It’s not how I’ve always been, but it’s how I’ve grown to be. And so, this habit has led this month of writing every single day to feel really difficult. It’s meant that the holes in my brain haven’t been taped up again, but they’ve kind of just been… irritated.


I still feel as though the holes are there. I still feel like the inspiration hasn’t been flowing. I feel as though, even though I’ve been forcing the words out of my head every day, they’re not as new or as interesting as the words would have been if I were writing them with a full functioning head. They’re not words which I feel particularly proud of. They’re just words.


There’s something pretty sad about feeling like you’ve lost all inspiration and you don’t know where to go to find it anymore. It feels a little bit like a part of me is missing, and I don’t know how to get it back. Like a part of my brain has disappeared with no warning and has left me with no magic.


So what I don’t know now, is where to go from here. Whether to give myself a break and stop demanding so much from myself. Maybe the best way to free myself of the little holes in my head is simply to give them time to heal on their own. But who am I if I’m not writing? That’s basically the one question which keeps me going.


For now, I guess I’ll still be here, rambling on and trying to find where my creative spark is hiding. I hope it comes back soon. I’m completely lost without it.