There’s only so many story lines, I feel I’ve read them all and written all my best ones. What’s the perfect premise? The one to keep me inspired and writing. I want to write something I’d read but the perfection makes me question. I’m only writing for me truthfully and I feel a lack of motivation. Life keeps me busy and my dreams are vivid with plot lines and dynamic characters. In my head the story is set and the words are all magically outlined. Has the imagination run its course or did I become so distracted by life and technique that it slipped. The simply joy of pen to paper got lost somewhere along the way and this need to create perfection came about. I search for the perfect thing and in the process realise there isn’t a perfect one. It all comes down to me and perhaps someone else will find it appealing or interesting too.

I found solace in words in my adolescence, while all around me lived in a wonderland of adventure I felt the darkness begin and watched from the sidelines. I immersed myself in poetry to help with my feelings and one day that evolved, I just begun a story and developed it to the stage I considered completed and even to this day I’m proud of it. Yet it was all fiction, things I’ve yet to experience but that’s what they say; write what scares you what you know or want to know. Write because the words needs to come out. Because there’s something you need to get out to the world, something you could help someone understand who is going through the same or even to release the thought of feeling yourself. Can I find a way to bring back those feelings? The excitement of what writing used to be.

So I buried myself in that written word and religiously wrote. I still crave the sensation of pen on paper but my mind is occupied by other thoughts. Other inspirations or ideas. Small flickers of story lines or a sentence that brings upon more inspiration. I hope that by leaving them for a while I can restore the love. I can focus on the other passions and pray that I don’t prefer it away. I love the world of my creation I do and how it allows me to be all I want and all I dream of. A world I can play god and where I feel all is at my touch and control. I make the princes’ and the leading ladies however I wish them to be. This world where reality is my own creation and the fates are mine to organise. I am the creator but the layout and rules are hurting the progress I feel. So for now the magic is elusive and out of my hands. As I turn to the future may this break help me to acknowledge that perfect is a fantasy and my standards will define it.


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