Life Writing

Please, Let’s Have Magic.

My productivity has been on the decline.

Not with life. But with this. This voice that I thought I had found, I lost, and have been frantically trying to find enough soothing throat lozenges to squeak out a word or two. However, over a month into a new year, and I’ve managed not a peep.

Two years ago, I published a quarter of the amount of work than I did the year before. Last year, it was a quarter of that quarter. I didn’t even publish twenty works in 2015.

“You have plenty to say,” she says… as I try not to let those words fall on deaf ears. Yet … the indicator on the monitor still haunts the mind. If only I could slow it down. The train station in my mind. You let all the voices, all of the thoughts come in and out too long, without using your avenues to expel those noises, they become… oppressive.

Too many things to try and filter out.

As always, I turn to this. Looking for something. Grasping at normalcy.

I haven’t written anything substantial in months. No matter how many times I pick up my pen, or flip through the last few pages of a story I’ve started, I lose track of my interest. I slip my grip on the path… and fall into the river of bone-chilling incompetence.

No matter how many times I write something useful. Or create something I find pretty for just an instant. I think about it for more than a moment, and it turns ugly.

So I’m going to try my hardest. Write, for me, more than I have been. Because as we’ve all just learned, muggle isn’t the only word for those without magic. However, I’ve got to find a way to believe I’m not a No-Maj. That there’s a spell in these fingers yet.

Starting this week, with this post, I’m going to attempt a minimum. No word counts. No external pressures. Just an idea, a train, a corruption of the term ‘life’. I hope that I can keep it up as long as I can. Even if they’re just mundane, trivia things, I am hoping the pattern, and exodus will purge something from the pipes in my fingers that haven’t allowed the flow of anything in months.

Maybe, just maybe, getting something out will release this influence I’m under.

I’ve been drunk on excuses.

Blacked out from over exposure to self-destruction.

and I need to sober up.


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