In many ways, it feels like inspiration is constantly escaping out of my grasp. When I was younger, it was easier to create dead-end stories.
College has a particular talent for weighing down the creative mind. I constantly worry about if I am good enough when compared to my surrounding peers.
People are all overflowing with inspiration and talent, that’s something that just becomes even more glaringly obvious as I grow older.
Thankfully, I’m surrounded by people who support and love me in whatever endeavor I force myself into to.
During my time in university, the total structure of my creative mind has been reconstructed and challenged. I think the hardest part is staying true to my ideas and things I’m passionate about. For me, it isn’t about following trends or chasing after potential readers, it’s me being selfish in what I write.
In the back of my mind, I know there is a market for what I write. I know if I published something, the likelihood of me making at least a couple dollars from it would eventually come. But, still, it’s hard.
To help me with inspiration, I’m constantly chasing after mood boards, poetry and good reads. My Pinterest is brimming with boards inspired by my latest writings, and through short stanza poetry, powerful words and aesthetically pleasing pictures of people I imagine to be my characters, I find a will to write.
Another inspiration comes from simply living. Throughout my daily life, I see tiny little glimpses of moments that belong in stories. They deserve to be eternalized within the black and white type of a 300 page novel.
When I don’t have enough time to write thousands of words, I jot it down into the confines of my Notes App in the form of poetry. For the most part, what I write should be spoken. I can never find my voice when the opportunity comes.
Sometimes, I just like to keep my inspiration turning in my head. I keep it there, push it into my cheek and wait for it to dissolve. Maybe that’s why I have chubby cheeks.