I stare at the computer monitor. The powerful bright white emanating from the screen burns into my eyes, making them water. I blink, turn away and, after a few moments, look back.
There is a virtual page on the screen covered in words. Words I don’t like. Did I really write these? I delete them and start again.
I never thought writing would be easy. Not for a second. But I wasn’t prepared for the times when, even though I know exactly what I want to say, I don’t know how to say it. It causes a special kind of frustration. Like typing with mitts on, sometimes everything is just rubbish.
For example, one day I can write a completely unplanned situation and blow through it like it’s nothing, then the next day I work on a chapter I planned long in advance, something I’m excited to write about, I can even see it in my mind’s eye, it looks great…but then I put my fingers on the keys and…nothing.
Writing can be a slog. I had to write off days, even weeks, because I couldn’t seem to find a rhythm. It’s frustrating and incredibly demoralizing. It makes me wonder what the hell am I doing?
But then there are days when I do have a rhythm, where the words seem to flow like water in a stream during spring runoff. I’ll sit down to work in the morning, then look at the clock and realize I’ve been writing for hours and I’m still not wearing any pants. But I’ve somehow managed to write thousands of words, and as I look back I realize, they’re good. Or at least, I think they are. I look at those words and suddenly it all feels worth it again.
So I continue to slog and hope that one day I will have a book to call my own. Something I’m proud of. And if I’m lucky; you, dear reader, will like it too.