The Despair of Not Writing, and Why It Is So Easy To Write About
It’s funny. When I am doing things like cleaning the living room and washing dishes and doing math homework, I get a lot of ideas about what to blog about. I’ll see a book I enjoyed lying on the shelf, pick it up and think fondly, “I could write volumes about this book.” Or I’ll decide to write about the difficulties of homework when you have five siblings, or I’ll want to share my favorite recipe for coffeecake that I thought about that morning. Oh, the mind is a strange thing.
And then I sit down to actually write a blog post, and BOOM. My mind is blank. I grope around in my brain, trying to remember what it was that I found so fascinating, but it’s just fizzled away into nothingness, leaving my in despair.
That’s what happened tonight, actually, and here I am writing about it. Funny how that happens, huh?
Well, now that I have written an introduction, I can follow this topic and see where it leads me.
I use an old family laptop for my personal story writing, a clunky, silver old thing that can’t use the internet and is only good for about two things: Microsoft Word 2007, and iTunes. So when inspiration strikes, as it does every so often, I brew a nice cup of tea (or perhaps coffee, if it isn’t nearly midnight), and bring it upstairs to the bedroom, my eyes only for the outdated laptop on my desk. The problem is, first I need to find my desk before I can write.
So I heave the many stacks of books off the desk and drop them unceremoniously on my bed (likely unmade, sorry Mom). Now, since I brought up the delightful subject of my bed, I must admit something. If you know me personally, you know that I have a Giant Teddy Bear sitting on the foot of my bed at all times. If you don’t know me quite that personally, I will enlighten you. For Christmas the year I was eleven, a quite memorable gift from a relative was this Giant Teddy Bear. He’s almost as tall as I am, quite fat, and oh-so-lovable. And for all you Little Women fans out there, his name is Frederich Bhaer, or Mr. Bhaer for short. (Haha!)
It is after dumping my books, that with a clear mind, I can sit down and write. I’ll put the tea next to the laptop, sit down, and plug in my headphones. On comes Andrew Peterson’s Light for the Lost Boy, on repeat, and then a sigh of relief. Ahhh, alone in the room, nobody to bother me… bliss.
Until, BOOM. As the lovely lyrics of Come Back Soon blast my eardrums, it happens again. My mind… goes… blank. And I sit there, a steaming cup of tea just waiting for me, wondering what I had thought of that was so urgent to get written down.
Sometimes, when this feeling of despair comes over me, I sit and stare at the computer until I finally decide to pick up the novel I’d been reading. Other times, I write down bizarre short stories that make no sense, about time traveling heroes and men in turbans, most likely.
It is a rare time when I can sit down and just write. But you know, when I sat down to write this post, I had no idea whatsoever I would write. And here I am, writing about… not writing. It’s ironic how much I can write about my struggle to write.
Now for the subject of Melancholy Poetry. I get in these moods sometimes, these funny, woeful moods that I refer to lovingly as my Melancholy Poetry Moods. It’s the sort of mood I’m in when I want to write something, anything, but have no ideas except for long lists of rhyming words.
I’ve written a lot of nonsensical, ridiculous poems while in this mood. One about Marie Antoinette, and her unfortunate head (which was just as awful as it sounds), another, about a lonely, green giraffe.
You know, since I have my Green Giraffe Poem memorized, here it is for all you curious people.
The Green Giraffe Poem.
A green giraffe is standing in a pen,
Wondering when he may go free.
People stand and watch the green giraffe,
And they laugh in his green face.
Quite melancholy, and it doesn’t even make sense, I must say. You don’t need to point out to me that it doesn’t even rhyme… I know that. Ah, the queerness of those who write.
Well, I seem to have nearly exhausted the topic of Not Writing. I’ve had more fun writing this post than I thought, considering the title! If I continue in this vein for a while with my posts, some really interesting topics could come up. Tea flavors, for example, and which ones are better for the tired mind. Or possibly the reason behind the books on my desk, that would be an interesting read. I could even blog about how I blog, now that would be funny.
Well, now my mind really is blank, and that’s all I have to share. I hope you have enjoyed reading about my Not Writing, and my dear Mr. Bhaer, and every other thing I’ve written thus far.
God bless you all, and good night!
About The Author
Abby
Abby is a teenaged writer who loves using her words for Jesus, to seek and point out beauty in the ordinary. When she isn't writing, you can find her jamming on her guitar, which she fondly calls "Raymond Fender the First", sitting on porches, or reading.
You crack me up and write about nothing so beautifully!