Nothing to Write About

The budding writer in me always itches to write. He wants to write about his life, life of others and the factors that affect anyone's  life. He wants to write about the experiences and lack of them. He want so write based on knowledge or even ignorance. He revels in joy when he is able to write a few lines that represent his thoughts. Sometimes, he is elated to read his own writing. At many other times, he is utterly frustrated at the tasteless banality of his words and sentences. 

Whenever he thinks about writing the next page of his own little book project (coming to fruition of which he has a lot of doubt about) or even a page of explanation for his bosses, he tries to move his pen as fast as possible or bang his keyboard as rapidly as he can, not to miss any of the things circulating in his mind. Sometimes, like the eternity taken by the photon of lights from Sun's core to come to surface and illuminate everything around it, his thoughts languish at the farthest back of his mind and take too long to come to the fore. He knows there are profound thoughts but he cannot give words to them so that he could write. 

Many times, the aspirant writer in me runs out of topics. The topics that are in his  mind seem so commonplace and uninteresting to him that he does not pen a word about them. Then there would be no thoughts worth writing about. At those times, he rues the moments when he had tons of thoughts jostling inside him and yet he was too lazy to articulate them and give them shape. After all, thoughts are thoughts, if they are not expressed and penned as they occur, it is hardly possible to re-think them and write at a later date. The feeling and intensity is not the same any more. 

Early in the morning just before the lazy body becomes fully awake and tries to lumber out of bed, the train of thoughts can be at full speed. Or late into the night when snugged well inside the bed and ready to welcome the goddess of sleep with a full heart, the thoughts swirl like a whirlpool and fight against the impending sleep. In both those extremities, the writer in me wants to pen the thoughts but the non-writer and the dominant self is too lazy to let the writer use the common resources. After all, it is the dominant self that controls the mind and body needed to articulate and the thoughts on paper or in the computer. 

At other times, when the dominant self is lenient enough to allow the writer self to do his calling, the latter tries to write something. But alas, he is out of topics. All the topics that come into the mind seem not worth penning. Even the most serious and profound aspects of life seem uninteresting. It might be because of the extremely limited creativity or highly cluttered mind. But, simply put, many a times, at the height of the desire to write something, the writer in me does not have a topic to write on. And it is in those moments that he ends up writing about nothing. Nothing is also something to write about, it seems. 

12 Dec 2018 10:09 AM