Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Back to This Again

Five years ago I began a story that held my heart like nothing I had ever written before. I can't tell you why, but the story was so special. It just had something in it that made me smile. I ended up just dropping it unfinished because things got overwhelming that year and I couldn't recapture my inspiration.
Well, recently, I started to feel that sinking sensation that you get when have so much in you but you don't use it to any purpose. Restless. Listless. Sad. I knew that I needed to write. To write or to implode. So, I grabbed my story.
Ever since I was in my early teens, writing has been a happy place for me to go to. A place where all my pent-up creativity can leak out and make sense of itself. It's a place where my soul can live exactly as it is, all the weird idiosyncrasies of my personality can come out and never need to have an explanation or defense. They are understood and appreciated without question. So when I don't write, I start to sink. I feel lost. I feel robotic and common. And I hate that feeling.
Anyway, about my story, let me tell you; it is beautiful. It's funny and unique and odd and I love it. I feel like I escape to another place. A world that might not be ideal, but is full of adventure and new people and places. Writing is putting yourself into sentences. It isn't about making money or getting your name out there for the world to notice. Writing is about letting what is inside of you come alive on paper, it's sharing your very essence with the reader.
Writing is also a challenge. And Heaven knows I love a challenge. I love being made to work to achieve something. It's strange, I know, but it makes me feel strong. "Hit me with your best shot" strong.
You might be thinking, dear reader, that I "feel" an awful lot. Unless you too are an artist, you have no idea. The feels are ghastly. Wonderful, and then so terrible they make a disaster of your mind. The smallest of things can inspire a flood of feelings with unfathomable depths. They can push you to the edge and make you crazy. It's just another motivating factor behind writing. Using that onslaught of emotion to fuel the story, or the poem.
I have missed writing. I miss the challenge of my creative writing class in college, I miss the adventure and pressure of newspaper writing. I miss writing about hundred-year-old literary pieces. I even miss writing for poetry contests. I'm not solitary anymore, and I won't be ever again. But, I can (and will) write. Even now. Even as low-key as my situation may seem in light of former life adventures.
It doesn't have to be a "mommy blog" or a "this is my life with kids" tribute. It can still be what it always was; writing for me.
Even if your situation isn't what you thought it would be, or if it is and didn't turn out to be the adventure you hoped it would, write anyway. Don't stop. Keep being you, keep inspiring the world (even if the world hasn't seen it yet) and keep inspiring yourself.

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