I have been struggling over the past week to commit to writing due to blocks in my creativity. I sit down fully intending to write, but then nothing comes to mind and I stare blankly at the screen in front of me. Once or twice I have begun, in the hopes that action would breed inspiration, but nought times by nought is still nothing; so I am left with very little. It’s frustrating and it makes me question my resolve, as though if I can’t produce some cohesive bundle of meaniful prose each day then this demonstrates that I can not be so committed to it.
I suppose the important thing to focus on is that I’m trying: I am attempting to write a story a day, and that is no mean feat. No writer feels inspired everyday, and there are probably many successful writers who have more difficult days than productive ones and yet still they dedicate themselves to the craft. So it will be with me. We all need a break sometimes: we have the working week and the supposedly restful weekend (where we try and cram in as many recreational pusuits as housework will allow!), and I guess it must be the same with writing. Writers need time to let ideas reuminate, to cultivate and mould the sparks of possibility into something worthwhile and capturable.
I have eighteen short stories from this month so far. That far outweighs my contribution to writing from any other month this year. Eighteen ideas that I could revisit and reimagine to create amazingly creative narratives that I can truly be proud of. Eighteen examples that I can practice my editing skills on. Eighteen new additions to my growing portfolio of compositions. And it’s possible that by the end of the month I’ll even have a few more. Who knows, I might even still make it to thirty one stories…the month isn’t over yet.