Being a writer is hard. This isn’t breaking news. Everyone who’s sat down to write anything knows this. But I’ll say it again.Â
Being a writer is hard.Â
I’ve loved writing for about a long as I could put together what one might consider coherent sentences. Before I could even form the words with my (arguably unimproved) handwriting, I would dictate stories to anyone who would write them down for me (usually my ever patient grandma.) It’s one of my greatest joys.Â
But dear God is it a pain in the ass.Â
Some days, it’s the best thing ever. I can write a nice article that will just flow from my fingers onto my screen. Sometimes it’s the only thing that allows me to finally fall asleep, as the thoroughbred thoughts course through my brain finally coming to rest in the stable of the words. Sometimes its exactly what i need. But sometimes, it’s a monolith. It’s a great wall, blocking my path from everything else that I want to do. It’s an insurmountable obstacle that just refuses to be scaled. It’s a disease that lingers, as every single syllable sickens my senses, saying, “this is not me. This is not what I want to write.” Or more often, this does not want to be written.Â
I have never experienced such a profound aversion to writing before this year. Now I’m not talking about mandated writing from classes, for that has always turned my stomach and even brought me to tears. But I have found ways around that disdain for such writing, such as writing a false introduction with some…choice words. But I’m talking about writing that I have always enjoyed, like creative pieces and fun nonsense stuff. Particularly, writing for Her Campus. I just could never find the motivation to do it. And even when I did, there was no spark, no inspiration. I had nothing. I have barely written all year. I have missed almost every deadline. I just could not find any desire to write, or anything to write about. I tried to write about everything from German, to being short, to emotions, to relationships, but I couldn’t find anything that I could write about with any sort of pleasure or pride in the end product. I blamed it on everything I could, including too much work, new distractions, general frustration, but it wasn’t any of these. It wasn’t that i didn’t have time, it was that I didn’t have anything to say. I was blank. I didn’t care what I had to say because it had all been said before. Nothing was flowing for me.Â
But today I got lucky. Today I had that spark. That immediate need to write and keep writing until it was complete, until there was nothing else to say. It’s a strange feeling. It’s relieving, and yet tense as you search for the words and the phrases, because you can frame it however you want to, but only one way feels write. Only certain words convey your meaning, only certain syllables slip from the tongue. It’s almost like the words are playing one of those Simon says games with you, and in order to move forward to have to get down the patter perfectly. You have no options, you have no license, you have only your words, a keyboard, and a prayer that you get it right.Â
And this experience can be just as difficult as hitting the wall, because you’re fighting against the clock of inspiration, which can run out at anytime, suddenly and without warning. You’re fighting yourself. But I guess, that’s really what writing of any kind is. It’s fighting yourself. It’s a battle between your, me, myself, and I. It’s a race to the finish line as your brain formulates an idea, and then tries to also get it down on paper before your brain lets that idea go. It’s a battle against what is easy and what is truthful to who you are and what you have to say. You never know where it will take you. You never know what you will say. You only know that you have to type and not stop for anything, in doing so losing what is more precious than any treasure this planet can hold: an idea. For once an idea is gone, it is gone for good, at least in that iteration. There’s no telling if it will ever resurface. Chances are, it won’t, so you have to be ready. Keep something to type or write with at all times. Keep a part of the notes section on your phone specifically for new ideas and inspirations so you never lose an idea. Don’t force yourself into an idea you are not passionate about. Don’t pigeonhole yourself into one genre or purpose or topic. You are a complex person with complex interests, feelings, and emotions. Don’t let that complexity go to waste. Jot it all down. You never know when it could come in handy. Â
So yes, being a writer is hard. Deadlines are hard. Blocks are hard. Emotional honesty is hard. Inspiration is hard. Preparation is hard.Â
But that does not stop us from writing. That does not curb its necessity. It enhances it, and makes every work that we can proudly call our own all the more valuable.Â