October 21, 2019




I am writing to write. It’s okay to write for that sake alone. I am bored and I want to talk about something. I wish I was more creative. I envy people who can just let the words flow out of their mind with ease and certainty. Or maybe that’s a myth. From what I have read about writing from writers--true writers--no one can just sit down and write with a consistent rhythm that mixes both authenticity, truth, and gumption. It takes one hundred tries and then one hundred more. That information came from writers who were writing more than one hundred years ago and famous for the last fifty. What about the writers of today? Why aren’t they sharing their writing experience? Do they simply sit down in a cafe and projectile vomit literary gold? I want to know what they go through on a daily basis. I’m tired of them hiding. I’m tired of feeling like nothing I write is good enough because I have to write multiple drafts, and that’s not talent, right?

There are moments where I sit and fantasize about having the perfect spot to sit and write. I imagine it’s a room in my future home. It has one large window high enough for me to place my vintage writing desk under so that I can stare out the window if I get cognitive blockage. I have a velvet, padded chair that has wheels and is either deep emerald green or burnt orange, depending on the decor. To my left is a window seat with built-in bookshelves filled with books on each side of the bench; the pillows are packed with feathers and are a woven texture with neutral tones. Flowing curtains blow softly as the breeze kisses the room. A love-seat sits across from my desk and is a color I am not sure of yet, but it is definitely comfortable. There is always a pot of coffee on and my favorite mug is always at my desk. Fresh flowers are on every surface in vases I bought from different stores--probably World Market, Target, and Anthropologie. But inspiration comes when it comes. It doesn’t care about its surroundings. It doesn’t care about a love-seat or wildflowers. And if you miss it, you’ve missed it like a train headed to your dreams, no stops made. I hope when you read my writing, it feels like riding on a train to YOUR dreams with no stops, and that you’re never late.

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