Tuesday, 16 February 2010

For me, the most difficult thing about writing is finding something inspiring to write about it. With most of my working week spent writing about inanimate objects that I care little if anything about, I struggle crossing the divide into anything loosely resembling creativeness. I have an urge to write, but too often just can’t get past the very first hurdle.

Many writers write about themselves in one way or another. This is probably what they are most qualified to write about. But honestly, I’m with myself 24x7. I bore myself, not to mention everyone else, into oblivion banging on about yours truly. It just doesn’t work for me. I don’t like the way the words come out and the result is that I stop writing all together.

Okay. So to recap – so far I have come up with nothing inspirational to write about.
But then, the more I think about nothing, the more I see the beauty of it.

Nothing is like a holiday from something.

Nothing is like that space where anything can happen and usually does. Like the unplanned impromptu things that are almost always so much more fun than anything you may have spent weeks looking forward to in anticipation.

Nothing is giving up all those futile attempts to control that which circles confusingly around you; because there must be better things to do with energy.

Nothing is just going with the flow. Akin to floating lazily on a lilo with a rum cocktail in your hand just experiencing the motion of the ocean.

Obviously we can’t be about nothing all of the time, because that would also drive me up the wall. But perhaps we should focus less more.

So there you go. Nothing further just now.