When the callus eventually blisters

Or, I don't want to write and this is the metaphor I choose as an excuse this time.

There will be moments in life when the thing that you love the most—the thing that fills you with both hunger and satiation of life—tires you out. Think of yourself as the sun, and the thing you love, the gases that are in constant combustion to keep you bright and burning. And then remember the fact that you’re only human, and that that inherently means you’re bound to get tired.

All of this is to say that I am tired. I love writing with all my heart, but at the moment, I am tired of being a writer. Not the act of writing itself, bear in mind.

The thought of having to think, and then transcribe those thoughts onto paper, and somehow make them make sense in an order or pattern that doesn’t look or sound stupid, and to do all of this while making something sound pretty—this is all too daunting at the moment.

I am dreading typing out this post. I am dreading it more and more as I put word after word down.

I have several lyric-writing projects that need to be done over the weekend and I’m physically and mentally unable to even get started. I have stories and characters and incidents in my head that I would like to explore, but opening a blank document and filling it with letters arranged in shape expressed in beauty is something I wish to stay as far away from as possible.

Because when you do something for too long, it forms a callus. And calluses are good. They show that you’ve put in the effort. They’re a sign of all the days, weeks, months, and years you’ve spent practising. Refining. Bettering. Honing to truth. But then at some point, or, realistically, every once in a while, this callus blisters. And when you have a blister, you let it be. Try to leave it alone. Give it space. Supplement with medicine. Get rest.

So, yes, I have a blister. A boo-boo. An ouchie.

And until that is sorted out, I shall not write.

Probably.

This is Ann, from Between WIP Drafts. See you next week!

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