Writing For The Sake Of It

I have idled away an afternoon, searching for an idea or some inspiration to carry words to paper and release me from the fear of being idle. My brain has whirred like my old computer, too much previous exertion to carry out more than one task at a time. The fan is working on overdrive, cooling the system, encouraging it to keep going, one task at time.

Ideas just aren’t coming today; mundane jobs are done, but not forgotten. Too much has happened in the world this week. Should that not be getting my attention? Failings from before demand attention. Tiredness, guilt, shame have occupied space into which they have not been invited. I’m writing with writer’s block, scrabbling around in the fog and the mist to find the next topic, the next theme.

A candle burns next to me; it’s homemade and there is too much water in the wax. It crackles, sending a tall flame higher than comfortable, demanding attention all too often. All my distractedness focussed onto one thing.

The afternoon is still idling by, tormented and frustrated. Ideas and inspiration still elude me. The brain still fights on; the candle still burns. A few hundred words, not so bad. The candle still burns and my brain still scrambles and Sunday afternoon has been idled away. Ideas and inspiration still elude me, but the screen’s no longer blank. One task at a time, three words forward, two back. There’s inspiration in the crackling candle; there are ideas in this fog. Sunday afternoon, gone, but not over.

I idled away an afternoon, searched for an idea or some inspiration to carry words to paper, and now I am released from the fear of being idle.

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