As a writer (I boldly use that word for myself), I have often struggled for inspiration. The motivation that unconsciously leads to a foray of magical words and leaves me with a satisfaction that every creative desires.
However if you have ever written more than a few pages, you would know that the high is difficult to pass by. It is like a rare encounter with an old friend, withholding loads of fun and times that just pass by unconsciously. More often than not, the hours spent trying to write are like stumbling upon a mysterious puzzle. No matter how trained you are, the puzzle is always at a level higher than your capabilities. And the catch is that until you solve the puzzle the self-doubt you face is something no amount of counseling can help.
Anyway, how difficult writing is, is a story for another time. What I want to insist on here is that the more we express, on each platform that we do, the more exhausted our motivations are. At least, for me. Whenever I sit down to write, I often find myself at a loss of anything to say. My world-view, philosophies, or even encounters with other people or things are so ‘conveniently’ and instantly articulated that the sensitivity they invoke in me is hardly turned into inspiration. Also, insisting over the same things again and again becomes ‘boring,’ which in an artist’s life, is death. So in an age when expressions have become so quick, what do people like us do?
As my past record and snail pace speed of churning out posts says, I have been facing this issue for quite some time now. It took me all this while to figure that this era of verbalization, of anything and everything, is perhaps one plausible cause of it, or an excuse, if you want to call it so. No solution, however, came with this predicament. That might be another journey. But the quest definitely did leave me with something.
For all those of us not blessed with genius brains, extraordinary observation or unconventional life experiences, there is just one thing that gets us back to paper every time. The love, unconditional and uninhibited, that we hold for writing. And I would like to believe that this love can turn situations like these, which are nothing but flaws in my capabilities and frustrations that arise out of them, into a muse.
P.S. having written all the bullshit that I have, I must confess that the extraordinary spur of motivation is something I am still looking for. Until then, I hope, highs like these keep passing me by.