On why I may not have been writing as much as originally promised...

I have unwittingly incurred the wrath of whatever writing gods may exist. It's not for lack of ideas that this anger has been brought down upon me, but instead a lack of motivation, a lack of any sort of stamina to my inspiration. An idea may come to me as I'm waiting for water to boil, staring vacantly at the never changing ESPN on my boyfriend's TV, or while unnervingly taking a shower home alone. If I'm particularly struck by the genius of my idea, I'll type it as a draft in my cell phone, to technologically decompose, leaving a guilty stench on my phone only I can smell. My school notebook suffers similarly, sprinkled with the bones of essays, sinew like free writes written in forced reflection time during class, fleshy little notes to myself. All the pieces to make a living breathing essay. An essay I could nurture from inception. I'd chose the right words, arrange everything just so, giving the words all the strength they'd need to stand alone. I'd proudly beam as my baby ran, hopped and skipped along the folds of my ready reader's brain and swam through their unsuspecting body, leaving them better than before they had sat down to casually read.

A major hindrance in this process is the uncertainty of having found that one special topic. That idea that I want to spend enough time with to develop a relationship truly worth something. The idea which I want to exhaustingly describe to the point of forsaking any semblance of plot simply to paint a scene in tribute to that which I am so passionate.

It is also to be noted that I feel as though everything I write has to be regulation essay length, when in fact, it does not. I'm writing on a blog at the moment, I'm not going to be graded on these words that I am now awkwardly typing on my laptop, but I will be judged. Eyes and minds more critical to structure and technique, or hearts more in tune to effort and personality, but judged in some way, regardless of criteria. And this, happy reader, is bothersome. I don't want something quickly thrown together to be atop my blog's queue. It would pain me to add anything that could be described as "boring," haphazard," or "uninspired" to my own personal growing canon. I struggle reviewing essays for class because oftentimes, I'm at a loss of anything really worthwhile to point out and encourage the writer to develop. My greatest fear is that when I swap papers, that is their own struggle.

And perhaps worst of all, in this writing drought, is my confusion as my essay comes to an end. Do I follow the tired, tried and true "tell them what you're going to tell them, tell them, then tell them what you told them" mantra? No. That's for readers who need to be reminded of what they read because they drooled on the first few pages. No, an essay should evolve, but whom I to cut that growth short? Or do I even need to? Instead, I'm am going to end this little essay, whose voice has rebelliously changed due to being written in two separate sessions, with a promise that I will continue to evolve. I realize I need to write more, and I will. Seeing as I've been left to rot in Fort Wayne while my boyfriend and the entire populace has gone to get drunk and tan in Florida, I won't really have much else to do but write, now will I?

Oh, what a blessing in disguise.