The Aloof Muse

Writing can be such a chore. I like the whole process, though. It's excruciating yet relieving at the same time. It's like trying to clean up and organize my overly messy room on a hot Saturday. It's difficult yet at the end of it, you'll get to smile and be proud of what you've done. These past few months have been very difficult for me in terms of writing. I have some writing commitments that I need to do but most of the time...actually all of the time...I fail to submit it on time. I have tons of ideas in my mind but I can't seem to start writing them down flawlessly on a piece of paper or on my laptop.

It's frustrating! But I think it's also challenging.

When I was in gradeschool, I love writing poems. Poems mostly about love. Every afternoon, after doing my homework, I would hang out in our veranda to write. Watching younger kids play outside and some of my friends wave hi, I would write whatever it is that my heart wants to pour out on paper. I filled a couple of notebooks then but when I got to high school, I stopped. I got too busy reading books, some required some just out of plain curiousity. I got interested in writing my own novel, inspired by Sweet Valley Junior High. I think I wrote three chapters but school work got into my schedule and I never got to finish it. I even remember the lead character's name...Karen.

Then college came. Reflection papers, essays, book reviews, reports, thesis, research papers. All those academic writing got into me. And for some reason, fear crept into my creativity and love for words. I felt like I was writing poorly. I felt that none of what I wrote meant anything to the world. I started signing up for online diaries and blogs but can't seem to maintain any. I was too sad. I was too scared that no one would appreciate what I wrote. And that was the time that I told myself that I was never going to be a writer. I've been hearing classmates who got discouraged, too. One classmate of mine told me that his uncle said that there's no money in journalism or writing. That it can't feed you. That got into my head, too. I feared writing to the point that I detested it. But fate seems to be playing a trick on me. At present I'm a writer, by profession.

But a writer of what? Thirty-seconder on-air scripts? Print ad copies? Sales kits? Is this what being a writer is all about? Sigh.

I just wish that my muse would come back to me and smile at me again. And I hope she comes back as soon as possible.