But people who put themselves in positions like ours, people who are obligated to write frequently, are (hopefully) also people with a great capacity to keep writing. I love the act of it, by hand or on a keyboard, it’s just satisfying to me. When I worked a data entry job sometimes I just enjoyed typing (sometimes I really didn’t).

For me, inspiration comes from momentum, often during the writing process regardless of how it was begun. Sometimes the winds just pick up and I finish what I started in a flurry of typos and long paragraphs, and I think it’s just from the act of writing. The physical act does its share to inspire me.

It happens, and I’m happy that it does because it means I’m paying attention to myself, and I would say the same in your case. People who don’t might let a slump drag them over a cliff before they attempt to rectify the situation, and that is decidedly not a healthy way to go.

As for your writing, to be honest, I’ve found it to be good, and well examined. However, the rub here is that you’re dissatisfied, and in the end, I think that is what matters as opposed to my sophomoric opinions. I suppose my question would be where do you want to take it?

Of course, I’m very new at this kind of writing, but something that seems to help me is focusing on the fringes of gaming, because *that* is where I tend to get really excited again. I say that without accounting for my sometimes meandering thoughts, which is something I am working on steadily, but at the same time, when I look to those edges of the whirling gaming hurricane, I tend to see a lot of interesting things happening, and these interesting things are coming from people just like you and I. Average folks who just want to have fun with games, fiddling around and seeing what makes them tick, or maybe just want to try something new that would probably never work on a massive scale. Those people serve as my inspiration.

“A Linear Progression”

For a very long time, or on
The cosmic scale, a very short time,
I thought there was no self-doubt
Blocking the path between my voice and
What I considered to be the truth.
It was naive, but I realized that
My feelings were not the truth, but
Rather a disorganized reflection of
A very small sliver of the truth

And that simply because I was
Passionate and opinionated
Arranging my feelings in such a way
To make me feel most comfortable
Would keep me safe, but working
As a shelter from which to shout my
Disorganized thoughts would also
Keep me stupid. Have you sensed greyness?

Creations about the inability to create
Are hopelessly boring as an exercise.
Inspiration always turns grey
And things that were so easy to love
Are not always that way
But focusing on this fact only
Perpetuates the grey.
It romanticizes and fortifies fear.

How arrogant of me is it to believe
I could understand what needs to be done?
There is no reason to try and find
Meaning in this staleness:
I am not confident that it is even
Worth the effort; that effort is worth it.
This is not a matter of growing up,
And I hope for humanity’s sake
That nobody is . . .

Brilliant article.