Today, I have lost my affinity with words. I tried this morning to write an editorial for the school magazine, but I couldn’t even begin; I didn’t know how to. Every sentence I began with sounded banal and lacking in vitality. It is one of the writer’s worst fears to see his words slump lifelessly across the plaza, whereupon it shall suffer the disapproving gaze of passers-by. Hoping to find some inspiration, I laid out the content before my mind. And yet, all I could think of was how boring the editorial is going to sound – all the information is probably already known to people, otherwise, they can easily acquire it through a little intuition. Later, as the morning began moving into the afternoon, I determined to make a set of notes to bring in for my literature test next week. It turned out extremely sparse. Maybe I’ll study some economics today.
EDIT: I finally finished the editorial piece. It was in the late afternoon that the “feel” returned to me, and set to writing to the piece immediately. Although it didn’t turn out quite faithful to its purpose. It was supposed to be a fact-to-fact account of my friend’s experience, but it ended up sounding like a pseudo-fiction. The problem was that I kept adding details to the story she gave me, like dialogues and excursions that didn’t actually take place. But of course, they were merely fancy additions, nothing significant enough to shift the focus or malign the essence of the story. Such a dishonest writer, aren’t I? When I showed it to my friend, she was baffled. “What sort of paper are you writing?” She asked. I don’t know what happened. Maybe I didn’t gather the enough information. I needed quotes, and names of places they actually visited, a description of the actual party. I should’ve been more specific in my questions. It was my fault that I ended up decorating the story with trivialities of my own imagination.