Here I am. Again, I’m posting after a time away, apologizing for the silence and hoping those that are reading (*waves*) forgive. I wish I could say I was traveling Europe, fighting some massive disease/disorder/family problem, or digging up a mummy in Egypt, but frankly, the mundane details of life are to blame.
See, I had a post I was going to write last week. It was a list, of sorts, of things I’ve observed and/or believed people should think about. It was very angry. It came from pure frustration, and without looking back, I know that I named the post: Frustration.
Sometimes, I miss being the writer I was. When I was in college, I was constantly stimulated by what I was learning. I admit it. I’m MAD about school. I love learning. I love delving deep into topics, even if other people think they’re over the top. Heck, an average night for me is researching random points of history or pop culture just so I can learn as much as possible in the shortest possible way. I’m a junkie for it, and in my day to day life, it’s something I miss from being 20 and in school.
I miss it because that intellectual stimulation was enough to make me believe and trust in the ideas in my head, and being informed by all I learned, I was eager to apply such new knowledge to my writing. Thus, any new book I read became a new way to explore the worlds already in my head, and every new history lesson gave me a lot more input in the world building I had out in front of me.
Then, I sorta became an adult. Sorta because I still haven’t figured out how to have my cake and eat it when it comes to the dividing line between responsibilities (jobs, bills) and the temptress of writing.
I wish I could wisk away all the damn frustration and stress of the day, and just let loose in writing. However, I’ve never been a stress writer. I write when happy. I write when in love. I write when I feel confident and happy. I can’t write when I’m ready to wring someone’s neck because the responsibility to show up to work is too much, or I’m exhausted, getting home at 1am, and hoping that the next day doesn’t involve any unexpected maneuvers. I just wish I could go back to the days of easy writing.
But, I can’t. Somehow, I now have to teach myself to write in all this stress and conflict. Somehow, I have to revel in it. My life’s not going to get any easier. Things aren’t going to fall easily in my lap and work out. That’s just simply not my life’s trajectory. Yet, for so long in my writing past, that was how it worked. How do I teach this old dog this new trick?
Maybe this life-long learner needs some new lessons…
Until next time, when things hopefully will be brighter!