Needing to Write but Nothing to Say


I find myself with the unfortunate affliction of needing to write but having nothing to say. I love the feeling of the words unfolding in front of me. Of the keys clicking rapid-fire under my fingers. But, never-the-less, in this moment I have nothing to say.

I want to write a story of such intrigue and suspense that one forgets they’re only looking at words. I want to have my characters express themselves so vividly, that one can’t imagine reality doesn’t have those people in it.

But I don’t have characters like that. I haven’t made them. And the response, ‘So make some’ would be about as helpful as telling someone who dreams of being rich to ‘go make money.’ The simplicity of the phrase is about the only simple part of it. And when I’m hit with a craving to write at 10 o’clock at night, I only have room for simple.

I have a few characters in my head, but they’re not for the sake of a story. They’re for me. My sounding boards, for me to converse with when I don’t have a real person nearby with whom to do so. Or when it would be inappropriate for me to say things out loud. I need to say them to someone. So I say them to whichever head-character I have whom would be most receptive to the remark.

But I can’t use them in a story. Because they’re…me. Other sides of me. If someone didn’t like those characters, it would be the same as them not liking me. It would feel so, anyway. Which is a rather childish way of looking at it all, I grant you, but none-the-less applicable.

My head-characters are the indispensable parts of me that enable the rest of me to function through my introversion. I need these companions just so I look normal on the outside. Or sometimes, just so I answer the phone. Some of them keep me grounded when I’m prone to irrational paranoia. Others feed it. (I try not to let those ones have much airtime, but when my anxiety craves company, it knows where to find it.)

Though I’m disappointed to have no flight of fiction in this moment, I’m relieved to find the rhythmic key-clicking in the writing of this small entry has relieved the itching in my fingertips.

A little.

But enough.


(2) Comments

  • Tehila
    23 Nov 2015

    Eve! I’m sitting here with my husband reading your words, and as per usual, we are absolutely amazed at your gift of writing – and hence your urge and craving to write!

    I’ve come to the conclusion that I HAVE to write, because the energy it takes to suppress my desire to do so is far more than the energy it takes to actually just write! 🙂

    So keep on using your God given talent, my friend! It’s been granted to you for a reason… xoxox

    • Eve
      24 Nov 2015

      I must say, I often think of you and your bright encouraging smiles and candour, when I’m feeling frustrating and fruitless. It feels like a lifesaver—one of those orange ring things they throw over the side of ships, to flailing writers, to stop them drowning in their briny self-pity. Thank you. 🙂

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