“You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.” – Jack London
I wonder if this is how all writers start. Their fingers itching to write yet they just sit there. I did. I just sat there. I just sat there mindlessly staring at the blank page or screen. Years and years passed as self-doubt consumed my thoughts. It told me they didn’t want to read it. It told me no one cared. It told me to write and then watch my inner most thoughts and feelings fade into the dark abyss without anyone blinking an eye. The unknown could be the most pleasurable and terrifying thing to consume my thoughts. It’s not like I haven’t tried to start a blog before. But before passion and thoughts could even touch the keyboard, analytics, calculations and aesthetic came in. This theme wouldn’t attract readers’ interests. Writing about this wouldn’t garner any views. This blog wouldn’t catch attention. When did my blog go from writing about myself to writing for others before I even pressed publish? The only reason why I want to write is cause it feels like life flows through my fingers when I express myself. I want to overwhelm a page full of ideas and thoughts and fears and possibilities. I don’t want to edit to look good, to fit a standard, to write to create an image of myself that I might not recognize. I want to write for others to read, to crave, to laugh, to cry. If I could just write and give someone something to think about, even just for a day, I’d feel like I’m on top of the world.