The only cure for writing is more writing

The only cure for writing is more writing. A different kind of writing. About an hour ago I finished my Ch1 first draft and already feel the urge to write something else. It’s been a month since I wrote here. I had promised to post something everyday during my December writing marathon, which you’d be able to tell, didn’t happen. Part of the problem was the marathon didn’t start until the 20th. Things never go as planned, and this was no exception. I was going to write three chapters these days and I didn’t. I might still get to 1.5 chapters but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Ironically, or tragically or happily – I can’t really tell at this point – the major interference with my dissertation writing, as it would probably be expected, is neither social media, nor “life”. Although they have their part, the big interference comes from more writing and other creative stuff. In the past eleven days, “devoted” to my dissertation writing, I’ve been cooking a lot, taken close to 200 pictures (the snowy landscape and furry pals are to blame there too), and written over a dozen pages of half-baked story beginnings. Suddenly as I dive into academic writing, objects come alive and begin telling me their stories – those frozen thorns are having a hard time, the train tracks are tired of their never-ending journeys; or their plans – my new antique type writer and the Italian fountain pen are getting ready to write many old-fashion letters next year.

The same. In a few images.

Told by books, pictures, meals and socks, without noticing I start listening to my own story too: how I became thirty and only took time off as a byproduct of going to conferences, how this year I’ve learnt to work more than I had ever had, how that made my green tea addiction come back, how I cut my hair, got new clothes and shoes, poured some glasses of wine and became myself, how I became jealous of my alone time while I also cling to my friends here and others, every time further scattered around the world, how I just read and wrote and thought about writing and reading, and how it all became Ch1, how I loved all that and how it all together becomes a story.

That’s the story of 2012.

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