A Failure To Write.

After such a prolonged abstinence from anything resembling critical thinking, it can be challenging to rouse the fractured synapses in your brain from their cognitive dystrophy. And that’s even under the provision that you have an interesting or pertinent subject to discuss. Do you talk about personal interests? The rigours of child rearing? Analyse some contentious issues afflicting the world? Do you get political? Philosophical? Debate the therapeutic benefits of self isolating after mandatory lock-downs? Lament the economic deflation of Jaffa Cake quantities, from 12 to 10 packs?! It’s not always easy to simply invent a narrative that encompasses a thought or opinion, without it coming across as a composite of puzzle pieces, compressed together to form an awkward, malformed depiction of your thoughts.

I’m lucky in a sense that blogging is a hobby, one unencumbered by schedules or hindered by editorial authority. I retain creative autonomy over what I write, restricted only by my own neurotic censorship or creative fervour. But even if say for instance you find a subject you want to discuss, or at the very least motivated by an idea, the challenge then is collating these cluttered thoughts into a tangible, vaguely coherent translation. So often these scattered ideas, jotted down in harried, barely legible notes become a mangled collection of adjectives and obscenities. Like a puzzle with no visible corner piece to start or a picture from which to refer. It’s all jumbled. Tangled. Often these assembled concepts, on the surface at least, appear to meld together with seamless continuity. Wrought with evocative symbolism and wry, caustic wit, that could only germinate in the mind of someone with such an enlightened intellect. Only for these musings to make as much sense as homeopathy.

Sometimes you just have to take a chance and experiment. You have to accept that whatever gibberish is being composed probably isn’t going to change the literary world. Moreover, these indecipherable ramblings will likely make less sense to yourself than even the people (person) reading it. But that shouldn’t deter you from trying. To refine your craft to a degree of vague competency, and not be embarrassed to express whatever curious thought you have. You are the author of your own madness and you have to trust that someone, somewhere, can interpret your distorted writing “style”. That can sympathise with the points you make on whatever subject you deem important to you, and say “Do you know what? I’m weird too”. And that is a rather comforting thought.