Writing Block
I have been sat facing a blank screen for about thirty minutes. A few times I have started a sentence, winced, and erased it. I am finding it difficult to merge the chaotic blizzard in my head with the calm beating of my heart. I wonder how it can be so strong in rhythm whilst my silent voice is screaming in my ears. I am currently out of words.
I have topics, I have pictures, I even have the existence of the unknown and the creative dream-like state of my own imaginings, but nothing that seems worthy of publication. I altered the way in which I viewed the room in which I am sitting; the television so loudly strangling my lungs, mother and father watching it with eager eyes, and a picture of two sleeping dogs. The fire is off, two candles alight. I see the room with little delight. So change the channel on my glasses.
I read again, to view two tiny puppies playing on a floor, Yorkshire Terriers, one only six weeks into a life upon Earth, the other one year older. He is nuzzling her, welcoming her into his home. Teddies are sitting with me on a chair as I write down the findings of my heart, at twelve years old I am young at heart, and the words I coat my mathematics book with are words of how I love my sleeping canary. The television is not too loud, not compared to the music at school, music that I do not want to hear. Rumours spreading regarding the X Factor, and my apparent love for 'Rhydian'. The years fly by. It seems only yesterday when I began attending the Humberston School.
My mother has not long been with her partner, my father not having long passed away. I am dealing with it, but nobody knows of it. I find comfort in writing my feelings down, and then tearing my pages up before my mother can raid my bedroom bin. I am strong I tell myself, and even try defending my emotions, an argument with my own head about the prospect of actually breaking down.
Things haven't changed much of course. Personality is what it is. So to admit my emotions to that of a stranger and have it pushed back into my face with comments of arrogant ignorance, well. It makes me cry, with tears of laughter. I do not know if public opinion rips me apart, or glues me back together. As long as I tell myself though, that I can take it. I just will.
The art of knowledge and growing, if you will.
Well, out of words, and pleasantly surprised...
That certainly worked in budging my writer's block... didn't it?
I have topics, I have pictures, I even have the existence of the unknown and the creative dream-like state of my own imaginings, but nothing that seems worthy of publication. I altered the way in which I viewed the room in which I am sitting; the television so loudly strangling my lungs, mother and father watching it with eager eyes, and a picture of two sleeping dogs. The fire is off, two candles alight. I see the room with little delight. So change the channel on my glasses.
I read again, to view two tiny puppies playing on a floor, Yorkshire Terriers, one only six weeks into a life upon Earth, the other one year older. He is nuzzling her, welcoming her into his home. Teddies are sitting with me on a chair as I write down the findings of my heart, at twelve years old I am young at heart, and the words I coat my mathematics book with are words of how I love my sleeping canary. The television is not too loud, not compared to the music at school, music that I do not want to hear. Rumours spreading regarding the X Factor, and my apparent love for 'Rhydian'. The years fly by. It seems only yesterday when I began attending the Humberston School.
My mother has not long been with her partner, my father not having long passed away. I am dealing with it, but nobody knows of it. I find comfort in writing my feelings down, and then tearing my pages up before my mother can raid my bedroom bin. I am strong I tell myself, and even try defending my emotions, an argument with my own head about the prospect of actually breaking down.
Things haven't changed much of course. Personality is what it is. So to admit my emotions to that of a stranger and have it pushed back into my face with comments of arrogant ignorance, well. It makes me cry, with tears of laughter. I do not know if public opinion rips me apart, or glues me back together. As long as I tell myself though, that I can take it. I just will.
The art of knowledge and growing, if you will.
Well, out of words, and pleasantly surprised...
That certainly worked in budging my writer's block... didn't it?
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