back from a long hiatus
I have of late been advised by a few of my friends that I should return to my attempts at writing. It goes without saying that it was encouragement ill-deserved, but in any case: write I shall.
----
I stopped on account of a few factors.
To begin with, life happened. There was the disappointment of the past year. Then there were the constraints of time, given my examinations, and then ennui, which came with the holidays.
It had nothing to do with laziness. There was always a compulsion to write, and inspiration aplenty. But it had everything to do with a will which had not the power over words, to make them unto forms which would have honoured any idea. I had burned out; a light had gone out and I was delighting in the darkness.
I was also disappointed with merfl not quite working out. It was a valiant attempt, but perhaps we had gotten ahead of ourselves. That certainly doesn't go to show, however, that we shouldn't try again.
Notably, I was embarrassed with my writing. It is sentimental and excessively diletante. Almost certainly to a fault.
But I'm working on it.
----
I have returned to writing, not because I have mustered will enough, or improved enough (if that can ever be said); nor is it solely on account of the luxury of time which I can afford in these last three weeks of my "summer".
I simply feel that I live a better life with writing than without it.
It is said that writers are desperate people. God knows I'm desperate enough to have my soul put once more on a line.
It's good to be back.
[fin]
----
I stopped on account of a few factors.
To begin with, life happened. There was the disappointment of the past year. Then there were the constraints of time, given my examinations, and then ennui, which came with the holidays.
It had nothing to do with laziness. There was always a compulsion to write, and inspiration aplenty. But it had everything to do with a will which had not the power over words, to make them unto forms which would have honoured any idea. I had burned out; a light had gone out and I was delighting in the darkness.
I was also disappointed with merfl not quite working out. It was a valiant attempt, but perhaps we had gotten ahead of ourselves. That certainly doesn't go to show, however, that we shouldn't try again.
Notably, I was embarrassed with my writing. It is sentimental and excessively diletante. Almost certainly to a fault.
But I'm working on it.
----
I have returned to writing, not because I have mustered will enough, or improved enough (if that can ever be said); nor is it solely on account of the luxury of time which I can afford in these last three weeks of my "summer".
I simply feel that I live a better life with writing than without it.
It is said that writers are desperate people. God knows I'm desperate enough to have my soul put once more on a line.
It's good to be back.
[fin]
Labels: life
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