A MinD in MoTown

I like to hear myself type.
July 9, 2008, 3:46 pm
Filed under: Argh, News Girl, Pourquoi?

All too often, I’ve stared at the blank page (or screen), wanting to write and almost willing myself to fill the void although nothing comes … except my musings about the inevitable writer’s block.

Since I was a kid and developed a love for writing, a strong emotion or stance on a topic had to completely overwhelm my being in order to adequately create a piece, whether prose, poetry or otherwise. And, in my opinion, some of my best work has come from that bubbling passion forcing my pen to the page.

Then other days, I can blankly gaze at the emptiness with a million thoughts racing through my mind – everything from daily rantings and annoyances to opinions on news and politics (which always struck me as odd considering my extreme novice nature toward that particular subject). And despite my most fervent effort, I’d toss the sheet into the trash or highlight and delete, happily forgetting the blatant crap I tried to pass as intelligent, sound discourse.

At times – rare in comparison to my “writer” attempts – I find myself unable to write the articles I’m paid for, often because the topic does not interest me in any manner. When faced with writing about the impact of our failing economy on junk yards (a topic I was assigned for this upcoming Sunday) or what to do with Fido as you plan your family vacation, I cannot even muster enough journalism knowledge to create a work I’d be proud of by deadline.

Why exactly does it take that passion, that burning urge, to write anything that I’d read repeatedly and still be able to say “wow, that came out really well”? As someone who has chosen journalism as a career path, as someone who hopes to continue growing in the field, and as someone who has been writing for as long as she can remember, why have I not yet developed that talent for sitting down and having the words flow from my hand as if a dam had broken? You would think – and I’ve often assumed, which I seem to do all too often – that I would have a flair for writing on command, be it my own or another’s, by this point. And yet, no dice.

So when will it come? When will I be able to aptly overcome writer’s block whenever I choose? When will I cease blogging about my troubles with this hindrance because I want so badly to write, but have little to say?

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