I have my pen posed over my notebook, willing the neurons connecting my brain to my hands to transmit an idea, a sentence, a word or even anything at all.
I have been battling writer’s block for a while now and unable to write a coherent sentence that can be read to an audience.
Being a writer has been my dream since I was twelve years old and pouring over a Danielle Steel novel.
I watched in awe as I observe Nigerian born writers and their skills with words.
I wish I could write like that too, I would say.
The first time I tried writing, it was a jumble of ideas but I was so happy to pen something down that I showed it to anyone who would care to read it.
I started writing bit by bit, fighting the urge to delete every sentence.
I got into my first writing competition, gave my all but I lost in the first round. I tried to put on a brave smile but I know I shed hot tears.
I started writing for school newspapers and magazines but most of my articles went unpublished. I became discouraged and stopped writing for so long that I didn’t believe I could do it anymore.
One day, I got challenged by a friend to start writing again, I wasn’t about to give my doubt a chance to stop me.
I wrote, about anything, any topic that comes to mind. I stopped caring about how my writing was perceived and just enjoyed it.
I started getting comments from friends about how good my writing was. I was really happy and hopeful but I kept my hopes down deciding to just enjoy been able to write again.
I’m putting myself out there once again, getting into writing competitions and challenges, not overly concerned about the prize but focused on enjoying what I love doing.
I hope one day, I’ll be able to look back at this piece and realize how far I’ve gone.
Till then, I’ll keep writing, one short story per day, everyday, pushing my hustle.
The hustle is real and I’m not stopping now, or ever.