“Words, words, words”: On Inspiration (or Lack of It)

Lately, I have found myself quite unable to write. Somehow, I kept doubting every word I wrote, deleted it, started a new post, and then left that one too because it was never good enough. I don’t know what it is. Maybe I’ve read too many great, original books lately, making my own words feel flat and hollow. Maybe I’ve read too little, making me unsure what to write about. Maybe I haven’t been listening to myself enough, which is why I’m feeling tired and stressed. Want to know what I find myself unable to write about, and why? Read on!

Shakespeare has been on my mind a lot. I attented a recording of an amazing play about his play Hamlet, I read Patrick Stewart’s memoir Making It So, in which he tells about his early life and how he lives now, but also about his time as an actor for the Royal Shakespeare Company. I’ve also read Judi Dench’s Shakespeare: The Man who Pays the Rent, in which she discusses every single Shakespeare part she’s played. I am trying to combine the two of them into a love letter to Shakespeare and the arts. But that’s just it: I keep trying, but nothing really works.

My future has been on my mind a lot. Next school year, I will work for only three days instead of four. It will be great, I thought, to be able to have more time to focus on the things I really want to do: to write blog posts about literature and to give lectures on them. But I’m afraid nothing will change. What if nobody wants to read my posts because they’re not exciting, fun, original, or good enough, and what if a lack of interest in my blog will result in doubts about my ability to talk about literature in an exciting way?

Failure has been on my mind a lot. I recently asked the local library (you know the one; I curated a bookshelf there) whether I could do any lectures there, but they said they can’t really see it happening. I also asked a festival whether I could do something literature related there, but I never received a reply. I keep wanting to do things, but I also keep hearing that I’m not the one they’re looking for. What if my dream of becoming a public speaker on all things literature will always be just that: a mere dream?

Literature has been on my mind a lot. I have read 34 books so far, and I love most of them. Some of them I read because I had to, others because I really wanted to, and others because, oh I don’t know, they just felt right at that moment. The thing is, the more I read, the more I feel like I can’t add anything interesting to it. How on earth can I have anything interesting to say about a book I’ve read, a book which a writer spent a long time on? Their language is more beautiful, their metaphors are more striking, and their message is more piercing. Do I even have a message?

Should I continue writing? Should I keep pursuing my dream or just leave it at this and enjoy some well-deserved time for myself? Should I keep trying and stumble, and eventually, hopefully, make it? Sometimes I don’t know if it’s worth it.

And still, Shakespeare is on my mind. No writer makes me feel so inferior as he does, because he wrote sentences I would never have been able to come up with and that I want to learn by heart, and his themes are so profound that I am sure I could never add anything of even the smallest value. However, he also makes me feel hopeful. Because all the books I’ve read and all the films I’ve seen remind me of why I fell in love with literature in the first place.

Right. Shakespeare has a line for every occasion. The one that should inspire me to keep doing what I love doing is this one: “Suit the action to the word, the word to the action.” And on that note: look, I managed to write another post!

Which author manages to keep you inspired? Do you ever wonder if you’re good enough? Which Shakespeare quote is your favourite? What should I write about next? Please let me know in the comments! Also, don’t forget to follow me for more book-related posts!