Short Stories 195 — Writing Prompt 28
A writer is fighting with writer’s block. They reminisce about the last time in their life they felt inspired.
As usual, I woke up before the alarm could go off. I got out of bed and performed the morning ritual and went for the long run. This has been my morning routine for a while, and it hasn’t changed a single bit. I used to hate it in the beginning, but it has grown on me. Recently I have been preparing for a local marathon, and the runs have been amazing.
For countless years, I have been waking at 5.30 AM in the morning. After the run, I, come home at 6.30 — 7 Am and go take a bath after stretching. Prep breakfast and after that, I go to my study room to write. This has been my schedule for years. And thanks to this routine I have released countless, amazing, award-winning articles and short stories.
But lately, things have been so kind. The mornings are still as amazing as always, but the writing process is killing me. Lately, I find it extremely tedious and boring. It just doesn't seem enjoyable anymore. The spark is there in me, but it seems to be flickering. I am in my late 40’s. And it is said that the writer’s prime is in his 30 and 40’s. So does it meant that I have peeked, and won’t be as good as I used to be?
This thought has been hurting me lately. It is piercing my soul like a dagger, right through the heart. And it is difficult. My wife is really supportive about it, but it seems as if I don’t have the faith in myself anymore.
When I first started this novel. I thought that it is the best idea I have ever had. And it really felt like it in the beginning. But as soon as I reached the body, the main content of the story, where the tension is supposed to be at its peak, it just seems boring. I am writing it and it doesn't feel enjoyable, nor entertaining. The story seems to be plagued with dialogues, which are extremely necessary for the story, and can’t figure it how else to put it.
And today is the worst day. I sat for almost two hours fidgeting with things on the desk, completely avoiding the blank page that is staring right back at me. I have somewhat avoided this obstacle for a few weeks, but the avoidance has become escapism. Earlier as soon as I entered the room, I only left after I had written something decent enough. But now, I just look for excuses to get out of this room.
“What has happened to me?” I keep asking myself this question regularly. And have not received the answer. Always thinking, tomorrow I will go hard on the story, but tomorrow has been dodging me for days, or maybe I am running away. Also, there are thoughts such as, “The story is just shit. There is no point in investing more time in it. Utilize your energy in something else.” And this thought is what has been shaking my confidence. It makes me doubt my won abilities. I have ways felt like I am not good enough, but this is whole another level of imposter syndrome.
Since I wasn’t doing anything I went to my bedroom. And laid on the bed for some time. “I can’t give up,” I said to myself and got on the computer in the bedroom, to look for inspiration in my previous work. I started going through his old notes and stories that I wrote when I was a young writer. And soon got distracted by random websites on the internet searching for things that I did not care about.
Soon I am across my old drive, where I had stored my old photos and videos. As I walked down this memory lane, looking at people that I had long forgotten even existed. Old photos of myself when I was young, young enough to be carried by mom and dad. Massive smile on my smile. But where is this smile now?. I wondered. Where has it gone?
Looked through a number of photos, where mom and dad were young and alive. Happy and kicking. And here I am with just these photos and memories of them. Now when I look in the mirror myself, I am older than them in these photos. And saw these really old videos of me playing football in Sunday leagues. And I said to myself, “Those were probably the best days of my life.”
Now I have become this writer that does things for money. I had started writing because I enjoyed it but soon life took over and priorities changed and money came on top. But this feels like visiting the roots of my life and it has energized the fight in me and I am ready for writing is long waited book that I always wanted to write.