How do you explain not being able to write because you feel your posts are not good enough, or do not exactly explain how you exactly feel?
For weeks now I have starred at my screen almost everyday, willing myself to write. I have lots of posts of unfinished stories, experiences and poems. I would start and then either get stuck or just not like the post at all. Nothing seemed post worthy. At some point in time guilt set in – getting weekly notifications from good ol’ WordPress, trying to encourage and inspire me to write, and not being able to meet up with the goal. Then detachment came. I refused to care. Save for a select few who I’m sure wouldn’t notice my absence, Who else was reading the posts? This detachment even applied to reading other blogs – I have tons of unread posts from my favourite blogs 😦
NaPoWriMo came and passed. So did my birthday. And Nigeria’s rise to limelight with Boko Haram and the abducted Chibok school girls. Those were just the major events. I had very strong feelings about some of these things and even had my own opinions to give but why couldn’t I just get them out? I wanted a post where you could see it just like I saw it, and feel it just like I did… maybe a bit more. I wanted that umph, but the more I chased it, the more I got stuck. It was like I was in quicksand.
This angered me. Yes. I became highly annoyed with myself.
While talking with a friend about this, I began to feel that I was probably too consumed with trying to chronicle every event, scene by scene, – as well as my feelings – in vivid color. Did I by concentrating on events, cease to live and then just exist? Maybe by being an observer I failed to become a partaker, which was necessary. If I did not feel anything first, how else was I supposed to describe it? Maybe by doing that, I was missing the mark.
At the same time I thought, but writers, singers – artistes in general – have to look inward in order to be able to express themselves in a way that others can connect. Is there a word for that? Isn’t that self-absorption on a mild level? Maybe that is where I am now. The phase of looking inward. The problem is that I am stuck there. Or was, now that I am finally able to write something, as feeble as it is. I don’t know.
I’ve missed writing badly. I’ve felt words gnawing and chewing at my insides so much that they hurt and made me miserable. I can only hope I can get past this self-absorbed state (or whatever it is) so I can move on with life.