So I sit down to write and I’m blank. But the desire to
write remains. Ted Hughes’ “Thought Fox” suddenly comes to my mind, and I glance
through my previous writings. I cringe at the thought of not being able to
write anymore. I wonder if anybody out there feels the same and that’s when I vaguely
remember the interview of either Ruskin bond or Jeffrey archer of which I’m not
sure but they expressed their fears of not being able to write anymore. There is a wave of re assurance in my mind
now. But the ghost of writing still haunts my grey matter nevertheless. This is
the time when a writer goes into the self doubt mode. Not that I am an
established writer, probably I don’t even deserve to be called a writer but I write
and that’s what writers essentially do. The definition of a writer can be
looked into some other time but my major concern now is the apparent dearth of
topics to write about. This apparent dearth equals to a feeling of death of
creativity. The feeling increases when you seem to come across bundles of
creativity around. I would not say there is nothing to write about but probably
there are too many things being written that leaves me feeling how is my opinion
going to matter anyway? Even with the
slithering sinister like cynicism, one does not give up. Its only when the writer’s
block is overcome can we say that a writer has proved her mettle. So here it is
*wink*
