Death of a Dream

by Miriam Islam

Nanowrimo Is upon us once more. ‘Tis the season to be  writing tra la la la’ 
It’s the time for  literary champions and ‘pants on fire’ humans to rise again. Twas The occasion to make merry ;down the ink laden wine, and join  the characters under metaphorical mistletoe….
Please excuse all my poor Christmas puns-I’m trying to make merry amongst the literary abyss but, where was I in all this? I was, in principle, a fellow nano writer – physically and virtually attended the meetings-but where had my soul gone? 

I wanted to be part of it all so much; the pep talks, the tips exchange, raw drafting and furious scrawling, but most of all the unification of hearts like mine; a writer’s heart.  Nano meant I could finally be propelled into literary presence…complete my purpose. But it didn’t. I didn’t write anything, couldn’t seem to, or even want to. I no longer wanted to…  Why? I asked. It’s not enough to ask why;I had to explore it. 
There had been many losses to me; apparent and hidden, and the effect of it had drained away anything I had tried to create. It bought about a mindset within me that I couldn’t shake. 

I can’t write because I can no longer feel. I can’t write because I cannot attain what I write about. I can’t write because I would have to once again experience what loss feels like. 
I cannot write because too many memories are tied up with what I had been trying to convey.

I have lost my muse. I have lost the hope I had in my tale. What could I possibly add to something  I could no longer believe in. Why? Because I yearn for that which seems to elude me. 

I didn’t have any real concrete goals or solutions.  I convinced myself it didnt matter; just write anything for the hell of it…but I stuttered and stalled, because there was no wish to write how I felt.  And That’s what it was: the book somehow became about me. Me going through the character’s lives and their pain ,irrespective of being pure fiction! 
I should never have made it about me. 

And so, finally, I mused that if I could just be objective, and insensitive against my own soul, then perhaps there’s hope,and hope is always a good starting point to climb mountains.

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