Speak to me

If there is one thing I hate it’s writers block. It’s like a hurricane circulating inside a glass ball, thoughts running wild in your head and yet, somehow it is impossible to put them on the page.

For the past year I have been quietly chugging away at my first novel, and have become all too familiar with writer’s block. You so long to conceptualise what is going on in your head and yet words just won’t do. The only way I can describe writing would be like being pregnant; you carry this story, your baby, for so long. You feel it move within as it kicks around, yet no one can fully understand what is going on. There may be physical signs of it; dark hollowed eyes, coffee breath and the lack of make-up, yet no one really knows. Until the day it is released. Your work is published, launched out into the mercies of the world. Like a mother you do your best to protect your baby but nothing can hide it from the criticisms or the encouragements that you may receive. It is there were you find out what you are truly made of. That is where you begin you’re parenting, cultivating the potential it has until others can see and understand your baby like you do.

But it is not easy. Writing is harsh. It is brutal. Last December I printed off the first 137 pages to my book, but the victory was short-lived. What I had in my hands needed attention, so much so I had to wipe the slate clean and start again. It hurts, is painful, yet with it comes liberation. It is an art, a way in which we can conceptualise and process thoughts. It is like a dear friend who you tell you’re secrets too.

We are surrounded by it. The songs we sing, the movies we watch, the businesses we shop from; all coming from a sheet of blank paper. A masterpiece waiting to be written.

I have come to appreciate it; writing has the ability to persuade, to agitate and to provide comfort. It is an alluring companion that strikes when we least expect it. This, this post is a reflection of that, here I sit in the library (my escapism) and can’t help but be overwhelmed by the capacity in which words affect us. I have always loved reading, but saw little relevance in it, particularly in the busyness of life. However recently I have been challenged with the reality that if I long to grow more in knowledge and acceptance of others, then maybe I should pursue after the truths I long to acquire and maybe, just maybe, the answers I seek might just be behind one of these paperback books.

In order for this to happen: our ability to grow. It is based on our ability to seek. To sit in the silence. For it is in the silence in which clarity can be found.

Often we resent the silence, because our interpretation of knowledge has been perceived as the amount of words we say. Quantitative rather than qualitative.

But what if silence is a reflection of peace. You see when we reflect and ‘live’ in the past it grows bitterness and resentment, likewise if we ‘live’ in the future, always thinking about what decision we need to make in order to end up where we want to go, then we grow anxious and worried. However, when we live in the present recognising the value of each moment: ‘Capre Diem’, then true peace is found. So silence, rather than being a bad thing, may just be a by-product of peace.

 Silence, cease it, and make time for it, for it is within the silence we may just find the answers we look for.