The Spark is Lost

I enjoyed writing. I really did. However, I simply cannot find anything to say anymore. The stories have all played themselves into clichés, the arguments have been argued to impotency. Everything I wish to say has been said before, by those who say it better. Blindly, I follow dull outlines in English and History, not caring enough anymore to make it brilliant, and instead just hoping it will be passable.

I'm not sure how I lost the spark, whether it's temporary, or if it's permanent. Reading has lost its enjoyment. Writing: I can barely stand the though of attempting it! Even editing brings my face to the desk. And yet, I long for the days that I wrote with all the fervor of one who adored writing; one who wrote simply for enjoyment, making Mary Sues and clichés and general atrocities with relish because I loved it and didn't know any better. Now, I know better and don't write.

Perhaps the teachings of the school has finally dulled my wits. After dozens of questions and essays on what the author "means" (and of course there is only one way to interpret it), it is ingrained that everything in the book is so symbolic, from the apple that's thrown in a fit of anger to the metamorphosis of human to bug. So naturally, my own writing must have symbols in every sentence that have deep, hidden meanings, but suddenly everything's a platitude again. Also, there is only one way to write an essay, but if you write without your own unique style, there is something wrong. Finally, revision must be done in six minutes or less; obviously, no one needs any more time than that for peer reviews.

Maybe this is just writer's block. It's quite possible that the stress of two clubs, a college class, and a newfound social life atop my typical school duties is causing the mind to draw a blank at the end of the day. Yet, I'd think that the sudden influx of material from all these new experiences would give me ideas to write about. Surely with all the drama eclipsing my own troubles, I would be able to write at least a cheesy romance? Alas, no. The words have all gone away; there is nothing more to say.

In conclusion, I have no idea why my writer's bone has suddenly left me. I don't know if it's permanent, I don't know if it's school related, and I don't know if increased duties have anything to do with it. All I know is that it's disappeared, and I miss it.