This morning for three hours, I wrote one blog post alternated with watching YouTube on my desk. Then this afternoon for the same equal amount of time, I wrote one article, one poem and four blog posts in an isolated place near a brook with just my pen and lots of paper.
There’s a big difference here.
I find that writing doesn’t flow that much if I’m near a source of distraction. It’s like there’s this plug that stops the flow of water from the faucet and my ideas grow stilted and the structure of words become clumsy and I grow more and more frustrated. But take me away from that, writing breaks free and I find it hard just to catch all the words because they keep on flowing and flowing and before I know it I’ve consumed 10 pages in a matter of minutes and there’s still no signs of stopping. I ought to find a quiet place in order to induce this state. When there is absolutely nothing except pen and paper, only then does writing unleashes its raw power and devours you whole. It lets you grow Herculean roots that pierce down the earth and suck and suck the marrow of ideas from there. And you get so drunk and intoxicated by the heavy ambrosia that you drift for a while in a bliss of nirvana –a high that writing has given you. Your hand is cramped but you don’t notice. You don’t want to go back to earth just yet because you like it here.
Another discovery I’ve made is I shouldn’t write something I don’t feel like doing. Writing shouldn’t be forced. Once inspiration hits you, grab the nearest pen and paper and strike, strike with all your might! for the lightning bolts of inspiration come rare.
So I’m going to experiment and write when the muse strikes. Write on the things I’m truly passionate about. This means redoing my assignments and goals but what the heck? This is all part of my growth as a writer.