I just read Bookswept. It has been a while since I’ve followed through her streams of endless stories and paragraphs of persuasive words that lures me back into the world of books, books and more books. However, she admits that she has hit a book rut recently in which no book would hold her interest anymore.
I guess she’s not the only one. Because as much as I wish I could deny, I admit that I have officially hit a book rut. Oh no, not only that, a writer’s block has also visited and extended his stay indefinitely.
For months I have long awaited the day where I could stay home, sip a cup of tea with a yellow paged book and my laptop beside me with a blank tab bidding its time to be filled. Filled with what? With who? I don’t know. This is the only answer I have. I don’t know. Forgive me if you have been following my recent posts that lacks content and clarity. Nothing has gained a prominent stand in my mind and heart. It’s heartbreaking. It seems that I have lost my muse.
Oh, my dear muse. Fantasies that once raced through my mind and compeled my twiddling fingers to bring it to life are now faded to a canvas of grey shades with white blotches. At times a patch of pastel pink and blue are swiftly brushed across in an organised fashion. Two lines of dusty rose on the top mirrors the two lines of baby blue below. A dash of champagne yellow on all four corners frames the speck of sea green that clutters dead centre. Everything has a path, a system. Gone are the swirling berry tones and shades of mahogany that clashed together tantalisingly with midnight blue and streaks of bronze. The canvas was once a random piece of cosmo. A little splatter here, a brush there. Everyday was different, everyday was a surprise. However, I must not forget. Although it was a dazzling spectacle, horrid black freckles couldn’t be stopped from surfacing and destroying the masterpiece.
And so from then on I’ve vouched for stability. Consistency was what I craved. With its satisfaction now, I’m bored. Yes, the occasional sweet colours keep me company but I can’t help missing the madness that I once willingly allowed to haunt me.
Perhaps I am asking for too much. Perhaps I am greedy. Perhaps I am an insatiable human being that loves to get her kick from a little mischief.