critically literate

inspiration is a strange thing. very precious, and equally elusive. you could sit for hours with a steaming mug of coffee, writing tools and crisp parchment (if you're into 18th century style, that is), with all sorts of ideas for a 'piece'; but your expression may fail you at the crucial moment. all ingredients but the one, make-or-break pinch of magic that goes into your recipe may refuse to be conquered today, just when you need it the most. what is that instant of time, that sole trigger, that sudden internal explosion of colour that would catalyse you into creativity?

for me, it can be a ripple in the river, a really comfortable chair, the memory of a really good play, the thought of one particular (pink cheeked) reader [aaargh, stop!], or a general sense of being too cool for words and therefore owing it to literature to keep at it.

but most of all, for inspiration to be allowed to play its role, i believe that you need conviction. i keep running from writing desk to computer terminal, from cosy library to public bench, courting the muse. secretly, she (the figurative muse of inspiration - follow the storyline!) and i both know that the trouble is my lack of faith in what i am writing about. and as even a phrase enters the output cell of my mind, it is rudely rebuked by a flood of guilty thoughts that shout - bull shit! in this way, i have pushed myself for a week, attempting to complete a weakly formed argument in 2000 words. but in every sentence i find myself justifying the last, in every paragraph if find myself looking for links to the main point, and after every half an hour i find myself trying to escape the unpalatable truth that my essay really sucks.

therefore, this post. heh... escapism may well be the best form of inspiration. thank god for blogging!