By Jan Vicente B. Pekas
Much of the process in writing the articles here have always been dominated by the topic. Who or what was the column all about. A topic with genuine interest always resulted in more words smoothly being put out. A process without the strain of conjuring up words and phrases just to bloat the piece itself. But off days are something inevitable. We would always have them and will continue to get them. Though we may not see it coming, the effects are enough to ensure its existence. Topics have always been what I prioritized in my own small experience of writing thus far. And when an off day looms overhead, I am left with naught but the urge to finish despite the compromised quality as a result.
The previous articles finished with ease were seemingly but an illusion. The words would just run out, like reaching out to a tub when taking a bath and suddenly finding it empty. The flood of words suddenly halting. When one would always expect it to flow endlessly, never ceasing and continuing on its rampage. Distractions that block the way, immovable like rocks would be easily avoided. Unable to provide even a single moment of distraction.
A mind empty of words to produce is itself a big obstacle. Think of an empty stomach like a boulder tied to the mind, preventing the head to move and function. It demands to be prioritized above any other. Unsatisfied until its desires are wholly met. But once its fully devoid of hunger, the words would come tumbling down. Rolling downhill, gaining both speed and mass. It would not be soon until it would all come crashing down. And in its wake, a finished product. A ball made up of bits and bits gotten along the way. Eventually those bits and bits would form something whole. Like a puzzle, it may not be pretty at the start, but progress would ensure its beauty in the end.
A couple of times I would find myself slugging through pieces I write. When focus was all but stolen. Stationary objects seemingly capture my attention as if they were waving at me. Eyes refusing to look at the few words I managed to write down. Head refusing to show what creativity it showed before. Before long frustration would just take control and progress was all but lost.
And frustration was a loose cannon. Ready to erupt at any point. For it did not care who, only when. Even the people dearest to us are not exempted. Frustration would have us forget all the rationality in our body. Instead, fuel us for behaviors which we would only look back at with a face of scowl and ridden with shame.
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