An Acceptable Form of Schizophrenia

“Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead.”~Gene Fowler

“If I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad.”
~Lord Byron

“Writing is the hardest way of earning a living, with the possible exception of wrestling alligators.”
~Olin Miller
 

Writing is an exceedingly temperamental hobby to pursue.

You, reader, as a literate human {I am making some assumptions here, you are human?} have some experience with the fickle muse that is writing. I'm sure that you've had a paper or two to write, or you just felt like expressing thoughts via pen and paper {or keyboard and screen}.

It's possible that you're one of the gifted few, who never realizes how dreadful writing can be.
[If so, why are you reading this? I can offer little.]  

Or maybe, you're like me. You've realized more fully the fickleness that is subjective art.

A lesson I've learned:
Good writing, like good music, cannot be forced.

I know this well from experience.

I took years of classical piano at a young age.
I am no master pianist, even after the hours I labored, and *cough* the practicing I tried to evade.

Elation fills me when I realize that there is NO MORE PRACTICING PIANO.
You'd think eventually, there would be some sort of after-school-special lesson, some comforting moral to impart concerning practicing the piano.
Nope.  Not for this girl.
No regrets. I got what I needed and split.

From an early age, I adored the guitar; it's what drove me to practice piano.

My parents wanted me to be musically literate in piano before I pursued other instruments. It was smart of them, but honestly, piano just isn't my thing. However, I can play Fur Elise, so I am content.

I have a few brief moments of wishing I could play like a great composer, but those moments are fleeting.

I am still sick of that black-and-white-keyed instrument, though I can say that I have experienced that entrancing elusive musical muse from time to time.
It has not come from playing the piano. The muse comes with guitar and song.

When it comes, it's a beautiful feeling. (I won't judge the actual quality of my musical skills, because, in all honesty, I don't like the sound of my own voice. But I like the evoked feelings)

Back to writing. In writing, there will be rare days when the words just flow effortlessly.

An idea bubbles up.
Hazy ideas become sharp in my mind. They refuse repression. If I write those relentless words down, they can happily escape into the written world and trouble my mind no more. 
It feels as if these ideas are aching to be written and I am merely typing as fast as my fingers will allow.
I love those moments.
During those times, paper-writing is a breeze, and I sometimes even write a blog post or other nonsense. (though it may well not be "posted")


But then there are the other days.

Those other days, when writing anything, even:

"Today was Monday. It rained. It is gray outside and I am cold. I want coffee."

feels like a huge chore, something I can hardly bring myself to. The words are bland, the sentence structure awkward.

In such cases, when I force myself to write, it's an utter mess.

I wish I knew the secret of triggering that effortless ability.

Perhaps the key is just more writing?
With instruments, the key is practice. But you also must love what you do. Something about writing, I love, so therefore I will practice.

Maybe I will begin blogging more often, to exercise the creative writing section of my brain
(because we all know college papers do NOT inspire creativity. They inspire regurgitation and saying what professors want to read. )

It is put well this way:

“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.”
~E. L. Doctorow