Monday, August 12, 2013

Drafting Fears

The blog is dying for quite some time already.  I just didn't want to accept it.
Or it may already be dead, and no amount of phoenix tears could revive it.

They said micro-blogging sites like tumblr and twitter killed the blog, but I beg to differ.  There were times before, that my blogger activities were as profuse as my twitter shenanigans, and one was feeding off the energies of the other.  It may be true that the ADHD culture helped kill the web log, but in my opinion, what ultimately killed it is the advent of the web-ready smart phone.  

When the internet is just at your fingertips, what need do you have for the clunky laptop?  Unfortunately, while the smart phone is perfect for typing that 140-character tweet, or the real-time posting of pictures and video, it is a cumbersome tool for the drafting of paragraphs-long posts, which the blog encourages.  That little screen just wont do for running sentence after sentence of post, not to mention the editing of photos.

But still, the need to write calls every once in a while.  But the lack of time and the promptings of other impetus eats away at what little time is available for writing.  And then, there is the doubt.  How many times have I, at the urging of envy after reading someone else's words, turned contemplative, searched deep inside, and picked...

a broom.

And in the pretext of distilling my thoughts, sweated phrase after phrase; sentence after sentence; thinking, revising, plotting.  But never committing anything on paper.  And when the luxury of time and thought had passed, forget that erstwhile writing assignment committed on meager memory.  Looking forlornly once more on that blank screen, unable to again shape the words into existence.

I fear I have developed a fear for actual writing.  I still claim to want it; to love it and pine for it.  To yearn for the time when, pen in hand, I give shape to my thoughts, letting it flow like blood from hand to paper.  I romanticize about it still, but more often, it feels like an empty task, more like a hollow dream you tell yourself, but never act upon.

How this former love become a fear, I wondered.  Back then, writing was a joy, and posting my thoughts away from the prying eyes of co-workers was a needed respite from the humdrum and monotony of the desk.  Escaping to the world of words and anonymity was a boon, a welcome color to the blacks and whites of the world of numbers.

How do I regain that drive?  And ultimately revive this space, if not in tears, then in a blazing fire of glory and rebirth.



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