Hourglass

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“The trouble is, you think you have time.” Buddha

I put off a lot of writing because the ‘mood’ wasn’t right or I was in that moment inspired. The older I get the more that I see I’ve wasted a lot of precious and available time to write.

 

Take a few minutes now to let go of some words that have been bouncing around in your head that have been ‘waiting for the right time.’ I guarantee the moment you start writing you will see how many of those words have already started to slip away.

 

There is a reason writers wake up in the middle of the night and roll over and write down whatever thought it is that woke them. These flareups of inspiration can be great, but they are also fleeting.

 

10 – 30 minutes.

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One thought on “Hourglass

  1. Whenever I start getting really back into the swing of writing, I feel that same dread of wasted time. With everything I get accomplished in spurts, I often desperately wish that sort of thing could be a constant. I think “if I wrote/read/participated like this on a schedule, I would have so much accomplished by now!” The truth, I think, is that I simply cannot. A weird phenomenon happened in college (before I got kicked out of art class) which made me rethink this entirely. I had gone an extremely long time without drawing a single thing, and yet somehow, when I started drawing again after such an absence, I found I was much better than I had ever been previously. I wonder if perhaps the nulls are necessary, if the brain does something and then, while we worry that it has shut down, that we are “blocked,” it is really busy synthesizing so that when we re-approach a project with inspiration, we find we also have somehow grown as artists. I believe wholeheartedly that actively engaging in writing (or art, or music, or whatever it is) on a daily basis strengthens your form. But perhaps there is also something more mysterious lurking behind so-called “blocks.” Hypergraphics, for example, have been researched back through history and certain observations of their behavior have stood out: hypergraphic writers, when considering themselves as “blocked,” were found to have actually been producing prolific amounts of writing nonetheless – just not on the project they desired. They wrote letters, filled up journals, composed essays. Poets would produce great works of prose, and vice versa; though each still considered themselves either a poet or novelist even if the sheer volume of writing they produced was in contradiction to this notion.

    So, although I have experienced “the block,” the dreadful, awful bastard, I try not to get myself too worked up over it. A single mind is still as mysterious as the entire universe. Who am I to say I know, truly know, what mine is doing or why?

    And in regard to your ending note – my current novel was begun exactly in the fashion you described above. I woke up one morning with a story in my head – a few lines that started to run away with themselves – and I was forced to get up and have them out. If it wasn’t a matter of carving them out of my head, like getting rid of a looping song stuck on repeat in your mind, I’d say being willing to take on the inspiration whenever it comes is integral. For me though, when a story starts going, line by line or image by image, it feels as if my life depends on getting it out, and off to the nearest blank page I go. Even if that is my iPhone.

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