Coffee

We are waiting on our coffee to cool down just a little bit before we begin meditating on our day, if there was a moment worth writing about, if there was something that took our breath away. At times we stare at these keys for hours without anything creative popping up, and at times we crush our own dreams with competition that only exists in our heads. We envy and fear the day we ever told people we’re writers, the trauma of being labelled good or bad strolls our emotions.

We may declare we do not consider other writers but deep down lies fear, fear of being compared with better writers and the fear of being labelled as a good or a bad writer. We may go around telling individuals we write merely because we’re passionate about writing but half that isn’t true. There is a passion for what we do but there is also belief that our craft will one day pay bills and give us more leisure than what we have today.

We go as far as reminiscing on hurtful times in order to write better, at times we reinvent every ounce of fear we ever had. We go as far as loving the lost in order to find ourselves, and we tend to deliberately hurt ourselves in order to write better.