All I hear is the quiet ticking of the clock. Its dull, monotonous sound irritates me.
My fingers have been itching to write. It must be the writer deep inside me, bored of relaxation. No papers have been due for a year now and the only writing I've done can be found in letters to friends and office work projects - none of which satisfy my thirst for deep, clear, crystal writing. I long for something that stretches my imagination, something that inspires me to reach new horizons. Perhaps, I have let myself become used to the daily grind. Every afternoon, I come into the office and do what office people do. Nothing inspirational. There is no creativity (unless you consider designing flyers creative enough to qualify... but at the end of the week those just get thrown out, so what's the point?). I feel like I'm molding and growing cobwebs on my authoretical heart.
I am no author by any means. Yes, I've gone to school for such things and I have dreamed of writing items of meaning and interest. Children's books appeal to my young and jovial heart. But at the moment I am trapped in my own monotony. To soothe my aching writer's bones, I have begun a journal to keep track of an impending event. Unfortunately I cannot disclose the details here, but I hope that this endeavor will spur me on to let my pen fly around again with direction.
As an encouragement to myself, I will set aside a small time each week to ponder on something I encountered over that week. Perhaps this will do the trick! Creativity is not dead within my heart. It is simply sleeping and in need of some electroshock therapy. So here we go... the beginning of a reawakening...
My fingers have been itching to write. It must be the writer deep inside me, bored of relaxation. No papers have been due for a year now and the only writing I've done can be found in letters to friends and office work projects - none of which satisfy my thirst for deep, clear, crystal writing. I long for something that stretches my imagination, something that inspires me to reach new horizons. Perhaps, I have let myself become used to the daily grind. Every afternoon, I come into the office and do what office people do. Nothing inspirational. There is no creativity (unless you consider designing flyers creative enough to qualify... but at the end of the week those just get thrown out, so what's the point?). I feel like I'm molding and growing cobwebs on my authoretical heart.
I am no author by any means. Yes, I've gone to school for such things and I have dreamed of writing items of meaning and interest. Children's books appeal to my young and jovial heart. But at the moment I am trapped in my own monotony. To soothe my aching writer's bones, I have begun a journal to keep track of an impending event. Unfortunately I cannot disclose the details here, but I hope that this endeavor will spur me on to let my pen fly around again with direction.
As an encouragement to myself, I will set aside a small time each week to ponder on something I encountered over that week. Perhaps this will do the trick! Creativity is not dead within my heart. It is simply sleeping and in need of some electroshock therapy. So here we go... the beginning of a reawakening...
how have you been doing with that??? it's been a couple of months now...
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