The Day The Spark Died
I'm sitting alone here in my room, intending to revise for my exams, but I can't. I keep thinking about something that's been scaring me more and more as I grow older.
It's called reality.
Once, long ago, I had this spark. This hunger to create. This blog contains glimpses of that hunger. I spent days crafting prose, imagining scenarios, polishing my writing skills. I wrote everything - non-fiction and fiction alike, blending unlikely genres one unto another. In that period of time I had no school and no obligations for months on end. I was left to my own devices and I created things that I could call my own. Back then, I treasured them as personal works of art.
The best thing was showing them off to people and having them voice approval and marveling at my work. I was thrilled. I did more, each better and more elaborate than the last. The praise continued. I felt that I could do anything. For the brief moment, I had the Spark. I buried myself in that work, work that I relished and wasn't owed to anyone but myself. I lived day by day, fueling that drive and pushing myself endlessly to produce an ever-increasing quality of prose.
Then my real obligations came along. I was sent away to be told what to do, and when to do it, for the entirety of my life in the period of two years. I lost the time and the resources to continue my passion, and it, along with my grasp of the written word, ebbed away like the blood of a slain warrior.
I survived that two years, and though it was not incredibly tough, it caused that Spark to perish. I no longer have that desire to create. Once I attempted to summon it again, but I was greeted only by a shadow of its former greatness and strength.
Writing was the one thing I could proclaim as something that I excelled at. I commanded emotions at my peak. Now that it has gone, I feel as though I'm missing my sense of confidence and motivation. I'm now an average person, with an average education and an average achievement with an average life. I have since procured many more experiences that could enhance my writing, but that desire has fled for some time.
I fear that it may be lost forever.
It's called reality.
Once, long ago, I had this spark. This hunger to create. This blog contains glimpses of that hunger. I spent days crafting prose, imagining scenarios, polishing my writing skills. I wrote everything - non-fiction and fiction alike, blending unlikely genres one unto another. In that period of time I had no school and no obligations for months on end. I was left to my own devices and I created things that I could call my own. Back then, I treasured them as personal works of art.
The best thing was showing them off to people and having them voice approval and marveling at my work. I was thrilled. I did more, each better and more elaborate than the last. The praise continued. I felt that I could do anything. For the brief moment, I had the Spark. I buried myself in that work, work that I relished and wasn't owed to anyone but myself. I lived day by day, fueling that drive and pushing myself endlessly to produce an ever-increasing quality of prose.
Then my real obligations came along. I was sent away to be told what to do, and when to do it, for the entirety of my life in the period of two years. I lost the time and the resources to continue my passion, and it, along with my grasp of the written word, ebbed away like the blood of a slain warrior.
I survived that two years, and though it was not incredibly tough, it caused that Spark to perish. I no longer have that desire to create. Once I attempted to summon it again, but I was greeted only by a shadow of its former greatness and strength.
Writing was the one thing I could proclaim as something that I excelled at. I commanded emotions at my peak. Now that it has gone, I feel as though I'm missing my sense of confidence and motivation. I'm now an average person, with an average education and an average achievement with an average life. I have since procured many more experiences that could enhance my writing, but that desire has fled for some time.
I fear that it may be lost forever.