Writer's Block Magazine

When I think about the act of writing, I do not conceive it as a structured procedure. Coming from a very organised and task-oriented person, this is rather disruptive, but maybe that’s the reason why I believe in arts finding their way through everyday life and established patterns as much as possible. They act as an inverted mirror, an expression of the alter ego. Poetry will make the loud speaker whisper on paper, turn the chatty friend into a gloomy poet… we have heard things like that. Sometimes the person that laughs the most is the one that is going through the worst situation possible. Art makes people surprise themselves. In my particular case, I absolutely never plan to write. I love to schedule my tasks and obligations for the day, crossing to-do’s out, listing ahead. But never in my life have I put down “writing” on a to-do list. Even though it is something that I aspire to make a career out of, I do not write frequently (only in my journal, though that is mostly venting).

On that note, I also tend to question myself a lot if what I am doing aligns with my objectives and if I am really cut out for the studies I am doing at university, my aspirations… This has happened to me comparing Spanish and English philology, since I study both and I normally have better grades in my native tongue. But, again, I have never deeply wondered if writing was “it” for me. I would not even call it something I do for fun, it is not a hobby, it is just something that happens every now and then. When it does, I am frequently proud of it. But ideas can come and go, and I might never reflect them on paper. I would love to be one of those people who carry a beautiful tiny notebook, and to be able to construct a coherent narrative of loose thoughts every time. I was just like that for approximately one year, but now I settle for often opening Google Keep. All of this is just leading me to a debate that may seem particularly philosophical or artsy, but it cannot be helped to wonder why. Why are there certain times where the world and stars just align, something shifts in the cosmic order of a life, and an idea appears. And, more importantly, is there such a moment? Or are we just making up excuses for not taking the time to explore our own potential? In other words, is inspiration real?

The legitimacy of inspiration when creating a literary object can be a double-edged sword. If the writer is a very humble person, or has imposter syndrome, inspiration might just be the perfect rug under which to sweep all the dust that comes with praising. A grey being upon who to blame creativity, and since it sounds fancy and it cannot actually be described, everyone would just accept that explanation. But other authors, if they are content with their work, might need to own it entirely. From beginning to end, from shape to form to idea. There are no deities there, no magical beings that award a gifted thought like a small light into their brain. Are great writers born intrinsically with their capacity? Because, in that case, there might be some people who would be great literates and are not taking advantage of it. This can lead to another debate – one that questions if you owe it to the world to execute your talent if you are naturally good at something. But focusing on our literary field, if inspiration is real (and I will later explain why I think it is), why do some people have better access to it? This might seem like wondering why some have “better access” to niceness, money, or resources. After all, many of these qualities come from the environment, education: they are generally given through different life circumstances. Creativity, however, inspiration, could be just randomly provided into the world. It might be based on having great cultural access, but it can also be gifted to someone that was not particularly interested in literature, nor an easy way of getting involved in the literary field. Is there a terms and conditions clause for inspiration? Because all famous poets in history had siblings, neighbours; people with very similar life conditions than theirs. Some of those were also artists – others were not. Spanish dramaturg Lope de Vega used to write a play at an average of every three days for decades. Was he inspired every day for over 50 years in order to write the most relevant pieces of theatre of Spain’s Golden Age? Of course, some of those were more celebrated than others; but he still remains the most relevant dramatic author that ever lived in the country. None of us can ever answer that question, and maybe if he could think about it, even Lope himself might not be able to reply. 

There are moments in life that are delightfully inspirational, no matter in what sense. For some people, there are days when they crack the best jokes, cook the best dishes, paint the best pictures, assemble the best outfit. It does not need to be a sunshiny, excellent type of day. I can be having an average, regular afternoon, and come up with an idea for a poem. Maybe it will never be captured on paper, but the little bulb lighted on that occasion. Shakespeare might have had the best day of his life when writing “Romeo and Juliet”, but he probably didn’t. Most likely he just sat there, writing. Here is where Picasso’s most famous quote comes to play: “inspiration exists, but it needs to find you working”. What comes first, the egg or the chicken? Was he a very good painter, whose occasional inspiration made his work even better? Did he just throw away all the “work” that he was doing while he patiently waited for that sparkly moment to arrive?

It is impossible to prove the existence (or lack) of a supernatural being that aids writers all around the world by planting the seed that they will water. After all, discussing spiritual, extracorporeal elements that come into play with human life requires huge leaps of faith and a bit of imagination. We are left with a lot of questions that just exercise our brains, with no clear outcome. And I do not have an answer to those questions either, so it is not like I have a conclusion to close this article with. I guess I was just inspired to write it.