***
I know you have been there before.
One month, two airfares, a glimpse of spring, two awful hope-killing snowstorms just when you thought winter was already over, half-dozen of lines written, erased and written over, zero stories.
Silence.
A whole month of silence.
First you tell myself it’s nothing major, just a stutter, a long-needed pause in a daily routine of writing, thinking, creating, arguing, laughing, talking with yourself. You say to yourself, it will pass.
But it doesn’t.
Week after week silence grows around you, thick and comfortable, not writing becomes an everyday business, something you no longer need to justify.
You find other occupations.
You read, you go shopping once in a while, you sleep longer, you stare.
Silence is safe and boring, a refuge and a prison.
There is no easy way back from silence to creativity.
There is no ready-made solution.
Words fail me, ideas scatter away, I look at my month-old notes – they are written in stranger’s hand.
Only a month ago I had things to say, projects to share, worlds to change, now all I have is silence.
So, I start writing about silence, because even when my inspiration fails me, when I can no longer be witty, insightful and thought-provoking, I can stay honest. Because I know that you’ve been there too, staring into creative void, wondering if you will ever make it back to your real restless reckless self.
Of course, you will.
Другие статьи в литературном дневнике:
- 31.10.2014. ***
- 26.10.2014. ***
- 22.10.2014. ***
- 21.10.2014. ***
- 15.10.2014. ***
- 14.10.2014. ***
- 03.10.2014. ***
- 02.10.2014. ***
- 01.10.2014. ***
