There are days as a writer where the words you’re searching for are nowhere to be found inside or out. You simply cannot force what you’re looking for out from the shadowy corners of your mind. Trying to do so pushes it all further into the recesses, completely out of reach.

Then the reality of doing this for a living places itself firmly on top of your lungs and pushes the air out of you. It is at this point you doubt your entire existence as a creative and want to punt and go get a normal, boring job.

But you know what you’re giving up if you concede in such a fashion.

Because for every instance where the words evade, there are just as many where the words come out full force and it’s as though you’re just writing on instinct. Every doubt in the world disappears when you are in this place. There is light everywhere and all of the corners can be easily seen.

Yesterday I couldn’t find what I was searching for, and today the words are everywhere and in everything. The feeling I have today is worth any amount of days searching for it in vain.