...why is everything with you so complicated?

I took the liberty to use a line from the Rihanna song “Complicated” (you can find the track on her album “Loud” if you’re interested…) to get me started on this blog post.

I’ve had my ups and downs with inspiration lately, more downs than ups to be quite honest and it’s been frustrating. It’s frustrating to stare at a blank word document and not know what to do with it. It’s frustrating to stare at an empty notepad, play with your pen and not know where to start. The idea is there, all fired up and ready to go but what’s not there is the inspiration, the inspiration to write, to actually assault the keyboard with my fingers until there’s smoke coming up, to actually write until I either run out of paper, ink or get a cramp in my wrist.
When you have moments where an apple inspires you to pen 5000 words in an evening, it’s does become somewhat difficult to comprehend why watching a smexy romcom with a happy-go-lucky ending doesn’t inspire you to do anything at all with your characters. They just seem to rot in their shelves because nobody seems to want to play with them… They stare at me with utter disappointment in their eyes and no matter how hard you try to explain it to them, they just don’t understand.

Yet inspiration is so easy to come by. It’s everywhere. It seems to however be one of those elusive things that you have to try really hard to catch. I’ve been trying and so far all I’ve got is a headache from all those times I reached right into thin air. It’s like inspiration is right there in front of me. She’s staring me in the face, laughing, poking her tongue out at me, teasing me, telling me to come and get her. But when I do, she’s gone. Just like that, from one moment to the other the room’s empty. I’m alone again with my fingers that refuse to type and my word document that refuses to fill itself with some amazing story that will make everyone fall to their knees and applaud my utter brilliance. All I hear is that eerie laughter, echoing through the room, reminding me that I’ve lost out yet again…next stop chocolate to ease my frustration. While the pounds keep piling on, aforementioned word document remains empty.
I’m a woman on a mission. I need inspiration and I need it now. You could say I’m a junkie. I crave it so bad that I’ve got withdrawal symptoms which manifest themselves in the form of frowns, grumpiness, frustration, headaches, anger, tears, hair-tearing…to name but a few.

I’ve still got some hope left that I’ll walk away from this spell of non-inspiration as a winner. Sadly said hope is dwindling fast. There’s only so many songs you can listen to, to try and inspire yourself. There’s the old suspects who are supposed to always work but who have currently been banned because they refuse to do their job. There’s the newbies who have tenderly tried to woo inspiration but haven’t managed to succeed just yet. Favourite movies have been taken from their shelves and dusted off in a desperate attempt to trick inspiration into curling up beside me and falling asleep. Countless pictures of beautiful sunsets and favourite places have been dug out and leafed through. Old memories have been dragged up from the depths of the million and one storage drawers in my brain. Previous works have been critically reviewed to determine whether they still hold some inspiration for me to steal away. Distraction has been sought out in a cheeky attempt to lure inspiration into sneakily attacking me from behind. Favourite writers have been stalked online or in bookshops and their works dragged out in the open in hope that their inspiration would become mine. Hours have been spend sitting in the sun, recharging my batteries and energy levels. Stress has been reduced to a minimum. Coffee has been drunk by the bucket load.
Alas, every plan and it’s cunning sub-plan, however carefully executed, has failed thus far. I’m at a loss. Writing without inspiration is a possibility for the actual story idea is there and the characters will obey if barked at accordingly. The downside writing like this however is that it makes every sentence feel like a 48h triplet birth without an epidural. It’s not quite up there with Writer’s Block but it comes pretty darn close. It takes the fun out of writing and makes it a strenuous affair. I don’t know about you but I like to avoid strenuous affairs as much as I possibly can…they are a waste of time. As a result of that belief any fruits of labour related to writing have been pretty scares and forced. I’m refusing to read over anything that I’ve written for fear that I will destroy it in the instant that I look at it.

If you have any suggestions on how to get inspiration to come and stay…preferably for good, but an extended term would also be acceptable, I’d love to hear about it. Maybe you have an idea that I’ve simply not thought of – standing on the balcony at silly o’clock at night, staring at the night sky and hoping that lightening will strike, is clearly not working for me. So please, bring it on! I’ll be forever grateful – an uninspired writer is after all just like a fish out of water. Both can only survive for so long before one dies and the other goes sheer crazy…