It's been nearly a month since my last post, one filled with crazy anxiety, depression and sick relatives (in every way possible). Through it all I stepped away from the usual blog haunts and social network addictions.
And then I returned to the pages. Call it "Calliope's Revival," which sounds all bible-belt-ish, but my writing curse has faded and the muse returned from her self-imposed exile/hibernation. Sometimes breaks are crucial in the quest for brilliance.
Here's hoping my muse has renewed strength and outlook in the pages ahead.
Cheers!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Calliope's Collapse
"It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all," a diluted quote made in an attempt to justify loneliness, perhaps. I hear it in my head in an analogous form justifying my dropping from the writing thing. Completely.
Honestly I can say I never loved writing, nor did I not. It was something that filled the empty hours, a form of personal entertainment similar to playing The Sims, for instance. Yet, The Sims never led anywhere, sort of a fantastical dead-end. While playing the simplistic game an invisible voice didn't sit close to my ear saying such things as, "Not buying it; this story's going nowhere; you are a passive writer."
Comments perhaps have killed my muse, and it has been a struggle to silence their subtle "help." I find myself holding a pseudo grudge and contempt, words that haunt while I pour my heart's muse to the pages.
She has since gone into hibernation or some form of rehab. I can't say that I miss writing per se, but I do miss the joy my characters brought on a daily basis, the wonder of what they'd do and say next, random and haphazard as they filled endless pages and hours of my time. Yet it came with an end-game: Where to go next? What outcome, goal, plan for my time and energy? I sought answers, received rejection, felt the frustration and ache of wanting achievement.
Quitting doesn't come easily, but there comes a time when reality says it's time to move on, let go of the angst, find beauty elsewhere. The good that comes to me personally is what I hold close with the hope that one day I can return without the haunting voices whispering their subtle "help."
May Calliope find her way back, well rested and eager for reinvention.
Honestly I can say I never loved writing, nor did I not. It was something that filled the empty hours, a form of personal entertainment similar to playing The Sims, for instance. Yet, The Sims never led anywhere, sort of a fantastical dead-end. While playing the simplistic game an invisible voice didn't sit close to my ear saying such things as, "Not buying it; this story's going nowhere; you are a passive writer."
Comments perhaps have killed my muse, and it has been a struggle to silence their subtle "help." I find myself holding a pseudo grudge and contempt, words that haunt while I pour my heart's muse to the pages.
She has since gone into hibernation or some form of rehab. I can't say that I miss writing per se, but I do miss the joy my characters brought on a daily basis, the wonder of what they'd do and say next, random and haphazard as they filled endless pages and hours of my time. Yet it came with an end-game: Where to go next? What outcome, goal, plan for my time and energy? I sought answers, received rejection, felt the frustration and ache of wanting achievement.
Quitting doesn't come easily, but there comes a time when reality says it's time to move on, let go of the angst, find beauty elsewhere. The good that comes to me personally is what I hold close with the hope that one day I can return without the haunting voices whispering their subtle "help."
May Calliope find her way back, well rested and eager for reinvention.
***
The End
The End
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)