When a writer begins a piece, they almost never have a perfect idea of what they want to accomplish with their piece. Some of us are very stubborn in our work; if we can't get it right the first time, we have a mental hissy fit and think to abandon the work all together, but eventually get right back on to writing the piece with a more clear idea of how we see it reading. We can see a reader sitting back and enjoying it, no matter what emotion it may try to convey.
However, there are times where that will to continue just does not return, and it's more disappointing a sight to view than any other professional dismantling. Imagine, if you will, a large company on wall street, their bankers and profiteers all smiling at the end of the day because good numbers rolled through after the bell rang at the end of the market's day. They all go home feeling accomplished and all to pleased with themselves. The next day rises, and the market begins to crash, and as the companies try to save their profits from falling apart entirely, it's too late. It's finished, and some go under and others hang on by threads.
When a writer loses their will to continue writing, this is the measure by which they must go on or give up. A loss so great makes their work tiresome and it's comprehension to anyone who would think to pick up this piece is pointless. Loss of a loved one, loss a lover ending a once cherished partnership due to circumstances that cannot be revoked or altered, or loss of will to continue writing due to an existential crisis that one cannot pull themselves out of.
Earnest Hemingway once said that "the best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them." If that is the case, then a writer who has put trust in someone and then lost it goes to end their will to put pen to paper, or in this case, words to written text. You pause and think what the hell you will write, you ponder on that person and wonder why they've gotten to you so much. You can't help but wonder if they'll read it, and what they will think. Will they call you a child for writing a plea of love to resolve your emotions, or will they write you off as some desperate pathetic piece of worthless washed up trash? You know your worth as a writer, of course. That previous works have been praised and given the credit that they deserve, but... You yourself, the writer, cannot fathom any sense of worth without passion driving those pieces.
What a waste, what a terrible waste. To allow the mind to fall victim to such trivial thoughts of the heart. To refer again to authors of the 1920's, Zelda Fitzgerald once said "Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, how much the heart can hold." No, no one can measure that, or the will lost to how heavy a heart of a writer can become when a loss so great weighs upon them. Poetry is the art form by which love, death, loss, every human emotion can be conveyed, however, it is for an audience, never a true telling of how that poet feels. Those words are saved for private letters to loved ones, living or dead, in some hopes that maybe those words will be heard. It's a curse that holds deep on all writer, whether we admit it or not is up to us. I, personally, am not ashamed to admit my will to write is dwindling, but an be salvaged if proper measures of my state of mind are taken.
Though some may see writers as persons who have no way of finding work, or that poetic statements of the heart are lost on archaic ideals that were only praised in centuries before, I make a statement here for the sake of the will of all writers to continue to write. The broken hearted, the doubtful, and the creators of song and poem that will never be heard because they've been sealed away in packages and envelopes meant only for the eyes of those they hope to read them and take away with loving sentiment, even if it's only a dream that they cling to out of their grief. Losing your will to write should be brief and a mark upon your own will as a human with the ability to write, the capabilities of making your hearts desires heard and conveying them in a way that will pursuade the masses off others of the same caliber to continue in that same path.
Do not regret your moments of weakness, or harp continuously in a public manner through vague Facebook posts that you hope to be interpreted by those lost lovers a shouting plea for their love to return. Be of the mindset of cutting loses, and camping on your grief should be a brief stay, not a place to make your permanent home. Though wall street is but a torrid place, it like the mind of a writer does on, the number, the words, the hope... They all go on until the last bell of the day rings out either in anguish or glory to those who hear it's ring.
Continue to love, and continue your work out of that love that which may not return. Hopeful hearts claim residency within the echoing walls of a writer's chest. As my favorite poet of the Romantic period, Lord Byron once said, "love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey". And the wolves of the world will fear your words and your conscious as you continue to defy all expectations, even your own broken heart. This is how you regain your will to write.
