CLibra’s Blog

I think I’m having writer’s block, and not just with my blog. I can’t seem to put together a creative piece, a discursive essay, not even a letter to one of my far-away friends. Why? What’s holding back the power to write?

In all fairness, I have been using my Twitter account a lot more recently, but that’s hardly writing, merely posting my thoughts as they come and not turning them into something more developed. But is there some malign thing in my life, preventing me from stringing together words that are actually meaningful? I think I may have lost my artistic ability with the literary canvas temporarily whilst I focus on exams, only I’ll need to be able to write well to gain good marks; and the vicious circle continues.

Reading has also become quite a stint too. It’s taken me several weeks to not even read a third of ‘War of the Worlds’, why? It took me a month to read all four books in the Twilight saga so it’s not a case of my ability. And I’ve got plenty of topics to write about – David and I recently had a very deep conversation which I can’t wait to write an article about. I’ve thought of an interesting tutorial to post. I want to finish writing up my new software concept. But there’s something holding me back from actually opening up my blog and just writing.

I love writing, I love reading. Have I become too much of an apathetic teenager to really care any more? I sincerely hope not. Hoodies and heavy metal may have become a little too prominent in my life at the moment, maybe I need to get things in balance again, including writing to my blog more. Perhaps I need to realise what needs focus at the moment.

In setting out to reason with myself why I’ve not been writing, I think I’ve accomplished getting over my writer’s block.

Poems are not just for literature students. They’re so much more.

I love write. I really do, and I love to read just as much. This is where I can liberate myself, through poems.

I’m in control. I can sculpt the world as I wish. I can vent my feelings, manifest them in complex metaphors. I can make them as intelligent and complicated as I want, or I can keep them as simple little rhymes.

If I’m feeling dark, I can create my world of horror and fear.
If I’m feeling philosophical, I can create a world of questions and riddle.
If I’m feeling anarchist, I can refuse to conform to any style of poetry.

The rythm is my pulse.
The words are my thoughts.

I have a blank canvas without constraints. I can pour myself onto the paper. Let the world influence my writing.