All of a sudden I wanted to paint again. There was one period a couple of years ago I wanted to paint all the time, but that desire had come and gone, and I had not been painting for quite some time. Now that I dedicated the month of April to finish the first draft of my novel, my desire for painting seemed to have come back with a vengeance.

This morning I looked at all my unfinished works in acrylic and in oil, and started to work on them. I didn’t work on them for very long. In a short four-hour period, I finished two pieces. One of the pieces was a portrait for my friend Tony, whose birthday was in March. The paint was intended for his birthday – last March! So more than a year later, I finally finished it. I was surprised at how little time it actually took for me to complete the work. If I knew it was this easy, I probably won’t let the unfinished painting hanging on the wall bugging me for more than a year. But then again, I was incapable of finishing it earlier, because I had absolutely no desire to do so.

I wonder whether this was true to my writing as well. When I stop, the incompleteness really bothers me a lot, and I feel quite discontented. But when I start again, l seem to not have as much obsession as I have imagined when I was idling. Maybe I should let my book bug me a while longer? And maybe then the writing would come quick and smooth.


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