So, here I am, once again. Sitting at the desk, blank canvas before me, ready to begin.
Well, that’s not entirely true. There’s a lot actually. Germs of ideas, hopes and aspirations, bits and pieces, random thoughts. But nothing that is solidify on the page. I’m sure every single writer will agree and this isn’t anything that hasn’t been said before, but the beginning is the tough part.
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
And that’s what I’m feeling right this moment. Trying to drag the words out and creating something that’s not only coherent and entertaining but also something that speaks to another human being is difficult at best. But the truth is – I’m just moaning about it. I know the story is in there, I just need to excavate it. Trying to say something about writing or the difficulties of writing, the frustrations, joys or experience is to evoke every cliche – ones that have been said before and said by better than me.
Alright, enough moping and procrastinatin’.
Back to it, writer.