A Writer’s Inspiration and Support

Traveling for the past six weeks, my perspective changed. I admit it had to.

Turkey invited me to share her concern for the changes which may tether liberal thought, as war and politics spread the glue of fear. I knew  fear, my novel unaltered for months now. Feeling guilty, I kept mulling but not writing.

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Bulgaria  surprised me. Although the Cryllic alphabet rested me on shining pearls, I soon began to play with the shapes in an attempt to firm the foundation upon which I stood. Bulgaria emerges rebuilding, reinventing herself; shaking off the Communist drabness.

In five years she will be an elegant lady.

Greece gave me a gem. In a coffee shop on the beach front, I met a young woman. While the locale dripped New Age thinking, feel good quotes, hippy colour and soft music, it felt genuine. At thirty she had tired of working in tourism and sought a new path.

Soon we became engrossed in conversation, one which centred on a fundamental necessity, I believe. Hope.

Looking at the situation in her country she understood a very powerful building block of our existence. By moving out of large hotels, the world revealed itself, offering a chance to spread hope and inspiration. Like a tide it carried her forward.

I sought my tide.

Tackling my inbox, I left the reading of new blog posts to the end. As a writer I have found some like-minded folk whose posts inspire me. A bit destabilized after travelling, I felt the need to re-immerse myself in  the fraternity, my new family, a diverse collection of folk; authors.

Writing can be a solitary pursuit, the effect of social isolation on mental health is well documented. Blogs, quotes, images; creativity across the miles create a sense of belonging. Lights on a velvet sky, I fuel my inspiration by reading the experiences of others.

But on this occasion, re-embarking on my second novel again, I needed more. Beginning a new book is always a wonky space; enthusiasm and doubt intertwine, distorting reality. This book required courage and honesty but my feet and my fingers continued to trip me.

Reading blogs, I found others going through the same doubts as I was. Like a day at the beach, soft wisps of clarity cleansed me and the seed of optimism began to sprout; a gentle strength stirred within and my story began knocking at the doorway of my consciousness.

Today is cold and cloudy but the sunrise through the clouds, elated me. After three attempts and three discards, I feel excited by the prospect of beginning to see what I can create this time.

I thank the writers, the bloggers and the artists who honestly write about the process from the inferno to the stars. If you have comments please share.

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