Void Thoughts

Yesterday was such a long day that I couldn’t publish anything. I sat down to write at night and almost finished a piece of fiction. I was happy to have penned something in my book, but before I could complete it, I got a phone call that lasted a while. By the time it ended, it was already 10 p.m., and I was so sleepy that I chose not to push myself to finish the story and publish it before bed.

And that’s okay. No regrets. No disappointments. I’m not blaming it on “life happening” either. We shape our days based on how they unfold, and yesterday, writing simply slipped through. That’s absolutely fine.

I decided I would get my writing done the next morning and publish it before evening. So here I am.

When I said I was committing to write and publish every day, I never meant it as a kind of self-imposed torture. What I wanted was to rediscover the joy of writing, just as I once did.

Lately, I’ve also been thinking about starting a creative routine that combines a little artwork followed by writing. Art feels like a meditative process for me. It often opens up new perspectives and ideas.

I haven’t started that routine yet, but whenever I picture how it might unfold, I feel butterflies in my tummy. It makes me feel both relaxed and excited. And that’s always a good sign, isn’t it?

Normally, I write my thoughts in my scribble book, where I jot down anything and everything before it makes its way here. Recently though, I’ve been typing directly into Google Docs as my first step, and I’m actually enjoying the process. It feels a bit like returning to my early blogging days, when I would type everything straight into the blog editor and do all my proofreading and editing there.

Over the last couple of years, I switched back to writing in my notebook first before typing things out. Looking back, I realize that created a kind of resistance. The notebook—my scribble book—is perfect for sketching outlines of a poem before refining it, but writing a full post that way felt heavy. My mind flows better when I type. Random lines on the page help me open the creative flow, but once it’s there, typing on the laptop helps me keep going.

We often think we’re learning something new, but more often it’s the reminders—the relearning, the rediscovering, and sometimes even the unlearning—that form the bigger lessons in life.

Now, I’m off to finish the fiction I started yesterday. What are you up to today?