“Inspiration is like vomiting.”
For the past few weeks or so, I’ve been struggling with trying to take push myself to write. I literally didn’t make any attempt to write thinking that some muse or some writing energy would engulf me and take care of it for me. 2 weeks past, 14 days, a whole bunch of hours, and still no writing. I spent my time marketing my blog in different websites and forums. I ended meeting a lot of great people and even having some rather interesting conversations. I just, for some reason, didn’t have the passion to write.
Earlier this week I forced it. I drew out several paragraphs and found myself rambling. My thoughts weren’t fluid, they were rambling on and moving sporadically. I started off with an idea, an idea that I preemptively thought of months ago, and I just kept expanding and expanding. I ended up expanding so much that I lost grasp of what I was writing in the first place. In most other times that I’ve started writing, I have floated out of the range of my original idea, but I was always able to tie myself back. Those past instances when I started writing earlier this week, that didn’t happen.
Yesterday, I opened a book which was a collection of poetry by T.S. Eliot. I put it down, as I wasn’t in the mood to read rhyming verses. I went on the computer and searched for Neruda. Good ole Pablo Neruda never failed. I read a few poems, I even wrote one down in cursive to get the feel of writing poetry again. Then, I wrote my own. The poem I wrote was about the time I spent waiting to see my girlfriend again. It was pretty solid, I was content with it. So content, that I actually ended up sending it to my girlfriend which wasn’t something I planned on doing.
I ended up writing the previous sub-chapter for Zidia, #6: Could You Stop, You’re Breathing Too Loud. Actually, after that I also wrote a song on guitar, which wasn’t bad actually.
Today, after work, I fell asleep for a few hours. I looked up poetry by Ruben Dario. First I found one that rhymed and simply continued my search. Personally, I just think rhyming takes away from the overall rhythm and texture of a poem. I read a few poems by Dario that had no rhymes, and then I started writing my most recent personal development post: The Popular Kid Was Never That Good at Talking to Women. It stopped writing at 1,050 words, and left it to be continued. I felt accomplished.
There’s something about the playfulness of poetry and the lack of structure that helps me explore the music behind words. It’s something that feels like I’m standing in front of some scenic view. Nature doesn’t have to make sense, and neither does poetry. In attempt to explain and destroy the magic of being enthralled, this can all fit in a simple theoretical equation.
- Nature, or any type of scenic horizon, plays with our senses, which gives off an inspiration.
- Poetry plays with our writing senses, which gives off an inspiration for writing.
This is just something I’m trying and something I feel is worth experimenting with.