Dear Inspiration…

A woman searches for inspiration, in this 1898...

…now would be the appropriate time to struck.

I think my inspiration died right before I had my last Exam in June. It just haven’t been the same ever since. For a short while I had this whole globe of inspirational light inside me.

I think I wrote about my big bowl of light. We started to plan this huge, epic, fantasy manuscript. We sat down and draw maps and started to make languages and religions. I started to research weapons and medieval life, and that left me with that I now know that swords weren’t as heavy as some books wants them to be. Inside my mind I started make up countries and small wars between certain countries. The light shone so bright that I now think I might be blind, because I feel so drained.

Whenever I try to start writing anything, or when I try to start writing on a brilliant idea, my mind just drifts away. When I try to write things down I start to think things like: “Whoa… I never noticed that the Game of Thrones Map can look a little like a witch in a bag”  (I got the map on a poster on my wall and I’m looking at it right now).

There was a time when I loved writing. The time of the day I looked most forward to was getting home to my computer to chat and write and do hours of research on topics I would never really need to know anything about. I’m not so sure I love writing in this way anymore. I don’t think I need writing anymore, not in the way I needed it before. Before writing was like my safe place, the only place where I could do anything and stay perfectly safe inside my own comfort zone. When I wrote, I was infinite and I was invincible. And those characters I made up would be my best friends and I wouldn’t need anyone, ever.
Before I didn’t need to go out, I didn’t need to talk to people and I didn’t need friends. Socializing? Me? Most people who do know me or used to know be knows that me and the term “being social” or “sociable” is not something to describe me with. All my life I’ve been an introvert that liked reading and writing and cares more for animals than people.

I think a lot has changed this summer. Not many knows but summer has always been the season I like the least. When people get all that happy for no reason and talks about the good and warm weather or the lack of thereof, just isn’t me. People get very bubbly and cheery (in lack of better words to describe it) in the Norwegian summer, anything cheery and bubbly isn’t me. This summer something had changed though.
I like this summer. I think I’ve grown a lot this summer. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still quite an introvert but I go out everyday, to hit the gym actually. To be honest I’ve had an incredible wonderful summer and I haven’t read a single book (as opposed to last summer when I read about 40 books in two months).

The problem now (and which this post is about) is that I’ve applied and been accepted for a BA course in Creative Writing, and my inspiration and will to write is gone. It’s like the fire, the passion, that burned in me and burned for writing died at some point this summer. I’ve started five new manuscript-project, and written less than a page in more than half of them, but their outline stays in my head hoping for stormy weather to scare me back into my writing shell.
How do you write when your inspiration, your light, your muse, your voice is gone? There are so many other things I rather do, than write. I rather work out twice a day than spending two hours writing. Even at some point I rather started making food than write. It’s like I’m avoiding writing. Maybe it is because I remember writing as something I used to do earlier, when I wasn’t doing very well. I’m doing very well now, in case you wonder, actually I almost want to say I’m doing fantastic (but I won’t because that’s not like me and I’ve already changed a lot, want to keep some me in here).

So what I’m saying to you, dearest Inspiration, is that it would be a good idea if you could pay me a visit rather sooner than later. My course starts in a few weeks and I really want to do well, for once I think I might will manage to accomplish something in my life. If you could come soon, I would be very grateful, because we used to be so good friends and we still can be if you just come see me once in a while to give me a little push and a little motivation.
And if you don’t come soon, I’m very afraid that I’ve chosen the wrong path in my life.

Dear Inspiration, now would really be a good time to struck.


2 responses to “Dear Inspiration…

  1. Pingback: When nothing works. When the mechanism stops. | Writer Writing.

  2. Pingback: wet wings. « Sick with Poetry.

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