It’s the Middle of the Night and My Thoughts Are Falling Into Place…
I sit in front of my computer, sometimes in front of my notebook with a pen in hand, but still I sit there and wait. I wait for the constant slurring of thoughts to make sense of themselves, for my ideas to finally find the words to speak them out loud…but they’re shy. For only a second they appear and just like that they escape my mind as though never existing. But I promise my ideas are good. They’re better than good, I’m serious! I literally have all of the words and none at all. Introducing: the life of an aspiring writer.
I read or saw somewhere once that you can’t call yourself a writer if you ever say or think that you can’t explain yourself. As a writer, you absolutely have to be able to explain yourself from start to finish. So why couldn’t I when I was at last prepared to write my explanation down, to further the idea, to tell the story I had in mind?
It’s come to my attention that my thoughts have an entirely separate mind of their own. They’ve created their own village within my mind where everything is on their terms. I imagine each idea that I’ve ever had is sectioned off in its own house on a street alongside the others, within a town its categorized under. When it leaves home and travels, only then can I access its content. My goodness, how absolutely coincidental would it be if this were actually the case!
But this is literally the only reasonable explanation left for me to understand why I am unable to produce material when I choose to. I’ve noticed that my ideas, my stories, my full on creative force comes to life at the worst of moments. Why would I ever consciously choose to have have my a-ha moments in the shower?
At the end of the long day waiting for the right words I decide to just call it a night. Maybe it was just one of those days where inspiration comes and goes and it wasn’t meant to be. I shut my eyes laying atop the sinking mattress, resting my head on barely a pillow…
…and all at once it hits me. All of my ideas, stories, projects — literally any thought I’ve ever had rushes out of its home and enjoys a communal reunion. My head is pounding, and I’m racing to focus in on at least one of them and get them on paper. In the hours I least need something to write about, everything is longing for me to grab.
It’s literally midnight now as I write this out. What better a time to write about the agenda of my truly complicated writer’s block than during the hours at which I actually have the words to write it?
Truth be told, it’s kind of frightening how this brain of mine shelters and reveals ideas both new and old. While I do feel a creative relief to be able to actually produce something that I’ve been meaning to begin, sometimes I’m not yet prepared to hear my own thoughts.
One night not too long ago, I was thinking back to the end of my senior year of high school. The thoughts overwhelmed me in a way I’d never felt before. Things happen in high school to every high schooler ever, but there were some things holding me back that I had to overcome entirely in order to become the person I am today. This being said, at the time it was more of a general acceptance that these events had happened to me, less of me accepting what I was feeling about myself and the situation. So when the thoughts started lingering in my head around this time not too long ago, it was unbearable.
Truly unbearable…but the tears inevitably race down my cheeks and suddenly I’m gasping for silent breaths trying not to wake the rest of the house in the middle of the night.
Of course the rest of the house isn’t exactly the greatest writer on the block, so it is only I who can relate to myself. So I let the tears pour and the feelings creep toward the edge of my skin suit and the blanket hold me close in its warm embrace.
From this high school memory I trail off to other ones, and soon enough the leftover trail of tears on my cheeks is crunchy. I no longer have the strength to cry, probably no more water left to spare either as my last sip was hours ago. I lay still, eyes wide open and thoughts quieting down. The sun is probably setting in the village and it’s time for them to retreat back into their homes. I wish them goodnight and once again beseech them to awaken with me so that we can work together in the daylight.
Speaking of daylight, it’s probably best if I see some tomorrow, which means this story has reached the end of its chapter. Who knows, there might be another one if there’s still a compromise to be made with the town of thoughts settled in my head. I guess my final words will be words of encouragement to my morning self: good luck with the writer’s block.
