My 1/6th Year's resolution was a simple one:
That's all. Up until February I hadn't even touched any of my piles of hastily stacked papers containing prospective plot lines and characters. Up until February I hadn't written for the Times in something like two years. Up until February my creative spark had, let it suffice to say, been killed.
Perhaps killed is too strong a word. Contained? Dimmed? I'm not sure. All I know is that one day I woke up and there was just no creativity in me anymore. Every day that followed I would try and try to churn something out - to churn anythingout, really. At that point I wouldn't have even cared if my pieces were at the same level as that of a kindergartner.
February came and went and I whipped myself into a frenzy. Before I knew it three weeks had passed; and in those three weeks I had gotten multiple Times Articles published and finished several previously abandoned short stories. By mid-March I was feeling undeservedly cocky. I had missed that familiar release that writing provided, and somehow experiencing it again only made me crave it to a greater extent.
It's almost June and my papers are again untouched. The desktop of my computer is again cluttered with recipes and pictures and schoolwork instead of writing. I feel as though I've developed some sort of glitch. How in the world could I go from six years of loving writing and being able to compose at the drop of a hat to this? Now the time I allot myself for "writing" is spent at my desk doing one of three things:
1) Staring at my fish.
2) Pressing my palms against my forehead and mumbling obscenities.
3) Breathing and blinking - and nothing else.
The quality of my work in and of itself is completely faltering, and frankly the fact that I'm my worst critic has only contributed to the issue. I make such an extreme effort to see inspiration everywhere but I just don't anymore.
My intentions aren't to complain, but to once more strive for release. I know that I am meant to write. Perhaps not professionally, but I know that I am capable of writing and I love writing and when I can do so it works wonders for me. All I desire, at this point, is to be able to write whenever I choose to again. This is a tall order to fill, especially when I'm so pressed with academics, but if I could only have one thing it'd be that.
So here I am again, and I'm making my Almost-1/2 Year's resolution.