I’ve noticed that I can’t write whenever I am surrounded by everyone in my family. No, it’s not that I am distracted, it’s more that in the hustle and bustle of life in our household, I can’t find myself. I find it difficult connecting to my inner self. I guess that’s why most writer’s feel the need to be alone when they write. Blessed are those who can still write even with all the activity around them but for me and some writers, we need solitude.
Solitude, I’ve learned, helps me connect with my inner self. The one that helps with my reflective mood, the one that reaches into my soul and helps put pen into paper and come up with something. There’s something in being totally alone that triggers my reflections. It’s like I go inside myself and see the world differently, thus, think differently. I feel like I turn into a completely different person, someone with a contemplative and sensitive soul and I feel like I can write the whole day and still have a billion more to say. What’s good with about this is that, afterwards, I feel refreshed. Like I took a dip into a clear pool and emerged fresh and new. I don’t know about the others but I think solitude has helped me a lot not only with my writing but also mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.
Three months after finishing my poetry novel Unmasked, I still haven’t persuaded my imagination to come back from its exotic vacation. I don’t know, maybe I overworked it and didn’t give it the loving care it needed? What does an imagination need anyway to feel loved? Loads of junk food? Caffeine? Soda? Pint of ice cream? Forgive me for depriving it but I’m getting married in April and I’d like to abstain from all those kinds of food – until after the wedding of course (come on, let’s not kid ourselves, I’m no health buff :P).
It sucks though, to want to work immediately on my graphic novel (which of course I haven’t mentioned here in my blog – curse you rest and relaxation!) but getting distracted by Sims 3 and the growing pile of books I’ve bought and haven’t read. Yeah, I’m banning myself from going into a bookstore for the next 3 months or so – let’s see how long I can keep it up! Haha!
Anyway, as long as I’m not writing I wish my imagination took me with her to Bora Bora or some other exotic place. An alternate dimension perhaps? That would be really cool!
The writing books I’ve read say that there’s no such things as inspiration or a muse but I guess I’m stubborn that way. I bull-headedly cling to my notions of inspiration and at least it did me some good, I was able to make my first ever book. Yay. But how long will it last? Don’t follow my footsteps. Unless you want to write for a week and stare at the wall for the rest of the month, consider yourself warned. Serious writers do not believe in inspiration. There is no such thing as inspiration. Now repeat that 100 more times while I go back to staring at my wall and waiting for my muse to visit me again.