The more I try to write, the harder it becomes, and it's not due to a lack of things to say. For the life of me, I cannot produce anything readable, even a blog post.
Recently, I have been experimenting with radical acceptance. Accepting whatever is, right now, in this moment, simultaneously accepting my shortcomings, while holding an awareness of the need to transform them into something healthier and more workable.
Letting go of my desire to produce something of any value, isn't making the writing process any easier. Neither adding pressure, nor easing up seems to work. So this is the part where radical acceptance comes in. What if I could radically accept that I am in a space where I cannot write, even with the pressure off? This is just what it is right now. Writers get writer's block; it seems to be a fact of life. As I am writing this, I remembered reading somewhere that sometimes you just write crap, and that's okay. Allowing for mistakes, allowing for crap. Okay, so I just experienced a revelation. Maybe I'll just keep on writing crap for a while. Because even if it is unattractive, messy, and completely undesirable to be in the same room with, I still enjoy producing it (crappy writing that is). I don't think that I ever realized that producing unreadable crap could be fulfilling. However, the bottom line is that I love to write. Admittedly, I would rather write something that has all of the vividness of a Chagall painting, and the light yet intoxicating scent of L'air du Temps perfume. But for now, I will settle for ... crap.
Recently, I have been experimenting with radical acceptance. Accepting whatever is, right now, in this moment, simultaneously accepting my shortcomings, while holding an awareness of the need to transform them into something healthier and more workable.
Letting go of my desire to produce something of any value, isn't making the writing process any easier. Neither adding pressure, nor easing up seems to work. So this is the part where radical acceptance comes in. What if I could radically accept that I am in a space where I cannot write, even with the pressure off? This is just what it is right now. Writers get writer's block; it seems to be a fact of life. As I am writing this, I remembered reading somewhere that sometimes you just write crap, and that's okay. Allowing for mistakes, allowing for crap. Okay, so I just experienced a revelation. Maybe I'll just keep on writing crap for a while. Because even if it is unattractive, messy, and completely undesirable to be in the same room with, I still enjoy producing it (crappy writing that is). I don't think that I ever realized that producing unreadable crap could be fulfilling. However, the bottom line is that I love to write. Admittedly, I would rather write something that has all of the vividness of a Chagall painting, and the light yet intoxicating scent of L'air du Temps perfume. But for now, I will settle for ... crap.
