What is the worse thing about writing nonsense? It is having nothing to write at all. So I stare on a white sheet of virtual paper and all looking at the blinking cursor not figuring what else is there to write....
From my plot of time... there were two food trips (or maybe more), an aquarium trip (which was so awesome, I can still remember the names of the sea lions), and ugh... two (supposedly three) movies in between.
But what has become of those? Memories waiting to be put into words...
Writing should be like inspiration... ideas should flow nonstop that not even the writer knows when or where it would stop. But what is happening to me is quite the opposite. It is kinda like I force the words out instead of them freely flowing out.
Alas! I'm writing nonsense again. It's one of those days that I have a thing or two about Philosophy. Though what I'm writing is not philosophical. It's a portion of the writer's brain, more frankly the bad sector of an SD card.
I guess I'm at the center of what they call as ‘writer's block. It's not that I don't have ideas... they're just not forming into coherent words and sentences like they used to. And it is precisely why my soul doesn't feel free. All of my emotions are trapped in a prison of quantum plasma or what-not. Not even me can open it.
But voila! I just had this thought from somewhere... or maybe I dreamed about it... or maybe it's because The Fault in Our Stars was showing in the theaters that got me the whole idea of going back into reading books.
I stopped reading books when I started on with the 50-year grind. Well, not literally stopped per se, just went into hiatus mode. Then suddenly time became a luxury. I became a slave to labor. All the sweet little freedoms of staring blankly vanished into thin air. And along with it, the pulpy smell of acid-free paper and newsprints.
But there is an urgent need deep in my heart to write again. And the only solution I can think of is to read and fill my brain with a gush of words so strong that it must go out into a stream of sentences and paragraphs.
And with all conscious effort involving time and space, I just finished reading The Fault in Our Stars. It is a good book written by an excellent writer, John Green. I found the quote that best describes what I feel in this moment...
Hmmm... more like feeling this way every time! Haha...
So what to do to feel less dead? Okay then. Challenge accepted. Life is like The Sims 3, after all. It is like a game with all the unexpected craps. But still, it is a good game. So yeah... I'm back into bookworm mode. Maybe a chapter every night before going to bed will do, eh? If our brain can still withstand the avalanche of metaphors and speeches after a long day, then we move on to chapter two. Oh well... I will now get back to the daily grind, but with an hour of lingering in the smell of acid-free paper and newsprints.
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| Writing about not writing |
But what has become of those? Memories waiting to be put into words...
Writing should be like inspiration... ideas should flow nonstop that not even the writer knows when or where it would stop. But what is happening to me is quite the opposite. It is kinda like I force the words out instead of them freely flowing out.
Alas! I'm writing nonsense again. It's one of those days that I have a thing or two about Philosophy. Though what I'm writing is not philosophical. It's a portion of the writer's brain, more frankly the bad sector of an SD card.
I guess I'm at the center of what they call as ‘writer's block. It's not that I don't have ideas... they're just not forming into coherent words and sentences like they used to. And it is precisely why my soul doesn't feel free. All of my emotions are trapped in a prison of quantum plasma or what-not. Not even me can open it.
But voila! I just had this thought from somewhere... or maybe I dreamed about it... or maybe it's because The Fault in Our Stars was showing in the theaters that got me the whole idea of going back into reading books.
I stopped reading books when I started on with the 50-year grind. Well, not literally stopped per se, just went into hiatus mode. Then suddenly time became a luxury. I became a slave to labor. All the sweet little freedoms of staring blankly vanished into thin air. And along with it, the pulpy smell of acid-free paper and newsprints.
But there is an urgent need deep in my heart to write again. And the only solution I can think of is to read and fill my brain with a gush of words so strong that it must go out into a stream of sentences and paragraphs.
And with all conscious effort involving time and space, I just finished reading The Fault in Our Stars. It is a good book written by an excellent writer, John Green. I found the quote that best describes what I feel in this moment...
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| Perfect! Photo source |
So what to do to feel less dead? Okay then. Challenge accepted. Life is like The Sims 3, after all. It is like a game with all the unexpected craps. But still, it is a good game. So yeah... I'm back into bookworm mode. Maybe a chapter every night before going to bed will do, eh? If our brain can still withstand the avalanche of metaphors and speeches after a long day, then we move on to chapter two. Oh well... I will now get back to the daily grind, but with an hour of lingering in the smell of acid-free paper and newsprints.
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