On Melancholic Writing – A Review

Clearly, I’m in a slump of sorts. My blogs have been dangling in that odd area in which I either complain or circle a topic that is morbid or sad. Part of that is why I took such a long hiatus; I can’t really get out of this slump. And that’s caused my poetic waxing to wane more toward the darker side of my humors.

I find all my writing to become purging something toxic rather than creating something beneficial, and I get nervous about what doing something like that brings into the world, and so I don’t write, or I don’t publish, or I don’t even finish what I start, because, well, it’s not what I want.

I found myself talking with my mom about this the other day. I have trouble making a decision, but am almost always happy with whatever life ends up dumping on me.

I am the dog constantly spinning to find a perfect place to lay down, getting frustrated and then opting to sleep on the cold tile instead (this metaphor has more to it than intended).

It’s a problem, seeking perfection when good enough has always ended up being more than I wanted. But I suppose it’s admirable from afar, to see someone at least give everything its fair shot at being the best it can be. From the inside looking out though, it’s just frustrating.

But, I’ve been pushing against that as of late. Not asking for perfection in what I’m given, but doing my best to make perfection out of what I have. I have no good inspiration, so I take the bad and try my best to make it pretty. Practice is practice, after all.

Today even, I sat down with no clear direction on what to write at all. But, after twenty minutes, here I am with 300 words.

I am not upset with my melancholic writing. In fact, I really don’t mind that it’s what I create. I just don’t like that this is all I can seem to create. I want to always be able to produce something better. But, instead, I wind up there. With the sadness. With the purging.

Even now, in a blog laced in hope, you can see still that this too is a purging. An excuse for my writer’s block. An explanation that wasn’t asked for.

I think rather than push for perfection, I just want to push for clarity. I want to live on the other side of the filter, where the water is clear and clean. And where I can see the bottom. I want to stop caring about the idyllic and care about the practical. I want to take that practical and shape it into something to be proud of. And I don’t think that’s impossible.

Thanks for reading, have a great week.