This happens with a fairly sickening regularity.
I write, I post, and it goes on for some two to four weeks, and then, I stop.
Then, a month or two later, driven by the accumulating guilt, I flip the laptop open, and with a new-found, almost rejuvenating determination, start typing. And, I finish this post. I do.
Usually, it is a semi-inspiring post, wherein I shamelessly declare things. Then, I write for another two to four weeks. Drop off. You get the idea.
It is almost time I did that.
This is not that.
Routine, and mundane are sometimes considered synonyms.
I have an issue with that.
See, extraordinary is rare. I mean that’s why it is called extraordinary. If you had many of these, then it wouldn’t be so. But what goes into it, the extraordinary that is, is lots of normal, routine tasks. You need to be in love with the ordinary, the regular, the routine, if you are to make something extraordinary.
Writing is not a glamorous job/thing.
Most of the days, you absolutely hate what you are writing. You feel like tearing apart whatever you’ve written, because, for lack of a better word, it is shit!
The extraordinary happens when you’ve been through lines and lines of the ordinary.
For a long time, I really used to trust my muse. But then, I realized she was a fickle bitch!
Then, I tried befriending routine, but she played hard to get. And for a long time.
Then, in time, I guess, she realized that I wasn’t going to give up so easily.
Most people aren’t able to get past the mundane.
Most people, have a half-written zombie novel saved somewhere.
Most people don’t create the extraordinary.
I feel, you’ve got to love the routine, the day-to-day, the work, the sweat, the blood, the tears.
Okay, too cheesy!