Simple. I started to think in pictures.
To the point where I couldn’t articulate myself in words as eloquently as I would if I wasn’t forced.
Back then, I would describe the sky with words, forcing me to use my imagination and vocabulary to conjure up images in your mind.
With picture apps, I snap a pic and add a filter to enhance the experience of viewing it. And if I wanted to share it with you, I wouldn’t bother describing it – I’d snap a pic and send it across the internet. Saves time, saves energy, you get the picture. And my ability to write deteriorates in time.
It came to the point where I would be trying to describe something, wishing instead that I had taken a picture. Shock horror!
So I’m going to get out of my writers’ lethargy and slothfulness, and begin to write again like it was my second nature. And that means getting myself off the euphoria of snapping pictures for now.
Well but how could you tell if I was writing the truth without a proof of a picture? Well that’s the whole mystery that comes with reading isn’t it?
The mystery of words is the mystery of how one processes them.