I killed the author

Its not that I can't write anymore. It's not due to lack of practice. It's that I've killed the writer. I have snuffed her opinions and views, told her that what she thinks doesn't matter. Told her that raw emotion and deep reflections have no place in my life which I have to maintain at a perfect, superficial degree. 

I have silenced the writer. I have taken away her voice. I didn't give her any space, and now I wonder where she's gone. I tried to get her to write about things that didn't matter to her in hopes that she'll come back, but she didn't. I showed a friend something that she wrote a few years ago and told him: "I can't write like that anymore", and he replied that it's because nowadays I criticize myself too much, care about what other people think. 

I know now that in order to bring her back from the dead I would have to let her hold the pen. Let her write whatever she wants and not try to restrain her. Only then will the writer in me start penning again. 

Pulse

When you have a blog you apparently breathe life into it by filling up the space with words.

Looking back at my previous posts I realise that I do miss my writing style, but it seems like I can't do that anymore.

Is it the lack of practice? Possibly. I'd like to attribute my present unimaginative and bland style though, to IB writing assignments. Is it because I have nothing to say anymore? I don't believe so, but my ability to express has considerably diminished.

Also not sure about how to proceed with my blog. I have thought of maybe getting a new blog to post more reader-friendly content like reviews on insignificant things, personal experiences and stuff like that lah. But then I wasn't sure if I should start so many projects. It's not as if I have nothing else to do other than to update my blog at my soonest fancy...

I also thought I should maybe use this existing blog to talk about more general things. But that would mean having to archive all my old posts (which I don't want to ) or having to leave them here exposed (nothing wrong with that but...). So I'm really in a dilemma right now and I can't take steps forward or backward.

But this, this is a pulse. This is a flower beginning to bud, the start of a song. The first sparse drops of rain foreshadowing the rhythmic pitter patter of rain. I hope.

See you soon.

D:

Academic writing has made my writing style... boring. Bland. not-worth rereading.

Need to find back my flair.