There are days when the words flow.
When writing is easy, pleasant, and simple.
On other occasions creating is agony.
Ideas are absent.
Motivation is fleeting.
Sometimes writer’s block is indeed an impediment.
A looming lump of impenetrability.
Other times it is a void.
An oppressive absence.
A chasm filled with toil.
Some days creating is like rolling down a hill.
Thoughts keep tumbling out
While little effort must go in.
Other days writing feels foolish
Like flying a kite without a wind.
It’s pushing a bolder against the current,
Or getting lost where you don’t speak the language.
And though the despair may feel eternal.
Though you may believe you’ll never write again.
Eventually you reach a new shore of inspiration.
Where words find fertile soil
And the work will name itself.