It’s been a while since my public journal was last updated…and about time too. On that note, I sit confirmed and looking forward to pin my thoughts on the brand new subject. I have a rough sketch of what I wish to include and start writing. Pen-and-paper does the trick for me usually. Anyway, I manage about 100 words only to switch to a new paragraph when my thought-process goes comfortably numb! Here I was, all excited and anticipatory just about a couple of minutes back, and a paragraph later I haven’t the slightest clue on how to proceed. To cap it up, and as ironically droll as it may sound, the more I tickle my thought-process, the more it stands obstinately poised, indicating [figuratively] — give or take anything, I won’t budge. Period.
Sometimes the ‘chemicals’ inside the brain takes a toll, so much so that all evaporates [well, not literally] to the point of becoming blank. At that moment no matter how much one may prod or poke, the cerebrum doesn’t stir up its lumpy internal. The chunks settle in, resolutely comfortable in their self-created retreat, while the red fluid streams around as freely as ever, not unlike the bluish-green bands. If blood and veins can criss-n-cross this comfortably, then why not my thought-process? What a genius Mr. Murphy must have been, having foreseen the law all those years back!
Earlier it used to be — give me a topic and I will write about it. These days despite having two to three, I fail to proceed after a point. I take this as a sign to become more cooperative with my brain. After all the way we, as a personality, have a switch on/switch off mechanism, our brain must be no different considering it is a part of us, right? So when this happens, after I pen the portion I am clear on, I make pointers about the rest of my write-up, lest I forget later and regret. Then I [re]start with the thought-process from where I left last to figure how could those pointers connect. I’d work on it for a while, sometimes even a couple of hours or so without realising it, waiting for an inspiration enough to wire it all up. Unsurprisingly, no sense of inspiration strikes ever. Off late [and to my great annoyance], the so-called inspiration has failed to smack me even after a day or two, or a week.
At times I start typing, in the hopes that the thoughts would flow faster when typed as against when written. No surprises there either. On the contrary, when I type, call it an intuition or intellect, I start losing interest halfway through thinking to myself — what piece of crap is this? There is nothing in particular I’m getting to; I’m just ranting on endlessly. When I do not have any faith in my writing or its look-n-feel, how do I expect the readers to be engrossed enough!?
Is this what they call a writer’s block, or am I simply trying too hard? Or, is it writer’s cramp — nah, that sounds too ludicrous even in my head. Could it be a sign of progression? A sign that says that I am no longer in a position to bullshit anymore even on my own space, and that I better get to some background check/research before I put up something?
Whatever so, just yet interestingly, there has been an increase in the number of words when I write. That may just be a sign of my thoughts — when they flow the way I want them to flow, they do so with far lesser constrictions. So, should I still complain?