A Prolonged Writer’s Block
Lately it seems as if my inspiration, my motivation, and my passion are constantly blocked.
And for months now, I’ve never been able to figure out why but recently, it’s been made clear to me.
I was reading an article giving advice to 20-year-olds about love, life, and careers. I wasn’t reading it because I was so desperate to know how to be 20, but mainly because it just popped up during my daily news feed scroll and with nothing better to do, I clicked to read. I skimmed through without taking any of the lessons to heart, until I got to the very last one.
“Don’t be so concerned with what you should do, but rather with what you want to do.”
That’s when I was finally to reach a realization about why I am no longer motivated to write: because I’ve turned my passion into a job.
And to me this was an extremely depressing revelation, knowing that I want to love what I do, but I cannot love it because it is something I do.
The summer before college, I started this anonymous account. I called it “mindrunsatmidnight” because my mind was most active in the middle of the night, and this usually motivated me to write whatever I was thinking. I knew it was never meant to be anything serious. No audience, no critic; just myself, my Tumblr, and a keyboard. I could have so much chaos and mayhem during my day but by the time midnight rolled around, I was in a state of active meditation. And honestly it was one of the best feelings, even though my writings would be rather sad.
But ever since I’ve phased myself out of Tumblr and transitioned to professional writing – contributing to online magazines, creating my own Wordpress blog – the meditation ceased and the pressure began.
The creative world that was once my own, was now open for everyone else but what many can see, they also criticize. I underestimated the difficulty of getting through to professors, editors, and worse, the public. As many of my works got criticized, edited, or rejected, my creativity began to dwindle as my mind became set on pleasing the readers.
I know a successful writer is best-known for their individual style and voice, it’s difficult to not be affected by the opinion of the readers.
Writing was once an expression and one I just happened to be good at, but turning it into a profession has suppressed my creative outlet.
I miss writing with the chaos of my thoughts and organizing them into metaphors, similes and personifications.
I miss the constant flow of ideas that came through my imagination.
I miss the instinct that followed behind my words, without giving a second-thought about what other people will think.
I was never that kind of person before and though this is probably just a case of toughening up, I can’t seem to express my passions without fine-tuning it to compel to readers.
Because without a reader, what is the point in being a writer?