In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Today Was a Good Day.”
I believe good days can only be measured against the bad days that precede them.
The last good day I remember, one very close to my heart came after a long period of trauma. I remember being sick for days, my gut being sad, and everything falling apart. I was depressed, and pretty much done for. Liver functionality took a dump when I tried to overdose on paracetamol. I felt so sick after the night I sat with a cup of bleach in front of me, I wondered if I should have woken up at all.
It was the worst of days…
None of my plans had worked, none of the things made sense at that point and seriously speaking? I felt like I did not have any friends.
Then, inexplicably it happened. As it often does…
Every writer has this moment of pure creation, of pure bliss. You see an idea and that encompasses you. Happened with me.
I spent day after day writing and writing, trying to build up the world.
Sadly, the novel failed.
But, the day I got that idea.
An evening spent in futility with a book in my hand whose pages I did not turn was turned into a night of work. The ideas rushed in like a flood and they drenched me full. I had to hold on, just to make sense of it all. It was not a huge idea, it was not something that I would be proud of but, it was enough, and by holding on, I tasted happiness