Ever since I was a child, I have written stories. I would write half-written stories about bullies and, once I really got inspired, an entire story about wizards entitled “Last Glimpse.” To this day, I find stories that I never knew were written that were, in some point of time, fabricated by my younger self. As responsibilities have grown and the years have somehow become shorter, I find less time to do what I love and more time to do what I don’t. It’s funny how that works.
I suppose this is a sad post and somewhat of an apology. I love writing, I really do. It’s one of my favorite things in the world. But when I’m faced with a pile of homework that needs to be done and exams over material that I haven’t had the privilege to know as far in advance as I would like, I find myself doing the things that I need to instead of what I want to. I think we can all relate to this.
But what I want to relay in this post more than anything, is that it’s hard to write now. Even more so than finding the time, is finding the inspiration. Where my younger self would look at the woods in my backyard and imagine the opportunity to create my own wizard school (I really did do this), I see a place where I used to be able to spend all my time. Where I used to see imagination and a chance for new things, I see the past and the passing of old ideas. It’s hard to be inspired when it’s more of a duty than a hobby. I miss staring at blank pages and creating a whole new world. It’s just not as easy anymore, but I’m working on it. I’ll let you guys know when I get there.