Writing is really hard. We all know this, the heaving mass of triers. Maybe it’s not manual-labour, aching muscles hard. Not studying medicine, fevered brain cells hard. Not even air-traffic controller, crazy high pressure hard. But it’s still hard. I think it’s the loneliness of it. It’s hard on the spirit. Piles of rejection letters don’t help, but e-mail has at least saved paper in that regard.
This started as a response to a post on a blog I follow. This one here. Why do we write, she asked. I answered but my answer turned into another question.
Why do we carry on writing? What helps you push on? When you sit back and that awful moment of what feels like clarity washes over your eyes. When the little voice says “This is shit and I’ve wasted my time.” When you’ve sat, for hours, with a blank page and a blank mind a blinking cursor mocking you with it’s patience…what’s stopped you quitting altogether?
I’m not being rhetorical, I’m seriously asking for input. Maybe to be truly creative you need to either go without affirmation or learn to make your own. And maybe navel-gazing blog-posts are no way to do that, they’re much easier than novels though.