Writing Blanks
Posted in mundaneity, patheticism
I don't know about you guys, but I've always thought of writing as a manifestation of life. It's how writers like yours truly convey thoughts on what used to be a simple blank sheet of paper. In time, pen strokes became key strokes and ink blots became pixels, but the basic concept remained the same. One could think of writing as a way of turning moments into mementos, and worlds into words.
These days however, I find myself writing blanks. Inspiration is a commodity that all writers thrive on. Without inspiration, the writer would might as well put his pen down for good. The problem is inspiration springs forth from life experiences, and there simply hasn't been anything in my life worth writing about recently.
So until I find enough reason to pursue this elusive dream, I will temporarily put my brush behind my ear, put the palette down on the ground, and just watch the sunset for a little while longer.
