Months ago, I made a decision to pursue writing more. I was feeling sort of unmotivated in much of anything in my life, so I gave myself an outlet with writing. A few weeks ago it dawned on me what a good thing this has turned out to be. Writing has brought some fulfillment back to my life. Not that life was unfulfilling before, but I think I was too caught up in the monotony of life to pick up on any of it. Writing has made my eyes and ears perk up to what’s happening around me and made me more observant of all the good in my life.
Writing has also encouraged more creativity in my life. Back in April, I felt like I was in a creative dry spell. As a predominantly right brained person, creativity is a must in my life. Whether it’s through journaling, songwriting, scrap-booking, or random collages on my fridge, I thrive on some little bit of creativity each day. Months ago, it just wasn’t coming. I felt uninspired, dry, and empty. It was writing that pulled me out of this funk, and gave me an outlet. From that, I think more creativity was given freedom to blossom. I feel “freer” now.
Some days I think how much I would just love to be a writer. What a great occupation! I could hole myself away, all alone, and do my work, lost in the train of my thoughts. For an introvert, that sounds delightfully blissful. But how in the world do I expect to get any writing material by holing myself away like a hermit? I believe good writing comes from life experiences. I need to get out and have those life experiences.
Honestly, I don’t know that being a writer would be that great of an occupation. Unless you’re Stephen King and can crank out thriller after thriller that lands on the best seller list every time, writing is a struggle. Rejection letters, puny paychecks… I don’t know if I could handle it. After reading a book about how to write, I learned the harsh reality of how little money writers usually make. Seems I’m destined to be the starving artist no matter what career path I choose.
Writing would probably be a great career path… assuming I’d have endless amounts of inspiration. Honestly, some days the inspiration simply does not come. This week it’s been there, as I’m on my third blog post of the week, but last week it was not. Writers have to be extremely disciplined, and write even when they feel they have nothing to say. I have a hard time pushing through the writer’s block that settles on me often.
In the book given to me by a dear friend, Writing Down the Bones, I am finding encouragement. She encourages the reader to keep writing, even when it’s junk. Write whatever is on the forefront of your mind, even if it’s simply, “I suck. I’ll never be a writer.” Often, if you push through that, you’ll find you really do have something to say under the surface of all that gunk.
What am I trying to say through all this rambling? I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps that I’m simply thankful for the practice of writing and how it has enriched my life. I am thankful for this blog and the few readers that stumble upon it. Thanks for letting me share.
