I’ve been meaning to write more. Several times since my blogging heyday in high school I’ve attempted to return to the words. To corral them like a herd of kittens into the text editor, to tell a witty and comprehensive story of “what the hell I’ve been up to since X months ago when I posted the last blog.” It didn’t go so well.
They behaved like most kittens do. They yawned and flopped onto their backs, kicking their furry legs in the air. They demanded belly-rubs and warm milk and did a whole lot of nothing. They were tired. I had them jumping through hoops called critical analyses and required reading for four years. I bored them close to death. Okay, I don’t want to kill kittens so I think I’ll abandon this analogy. Anyways, the point is that I’ve always loved to blog, but I put my personal writing on the back-burner over the years for school and work and I’ve started to worry that I’m losing my voice. Laryngitis of the keyboard, or something like that.
I’ve learned a lot from writing professionally — and I’m still learning. But one of the most important things I’ve figured out so far is the value of an authentic voice and a good story. Then it clicked. Writing for fun can actually help me be a better writer at work. That should be obvious, but I’ve kept the two separated for so long the idea smacked me in the face. Creativity is good for productivity.
For the record, I’ve never felt like my creativity has been stifled by anyone, except for myself. It’s always been me who’s said I have nothing interesting to blog about. It’s me who’s chosen to scroll through Facebook instead of sitting down to write. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to be creative, but I haven’t been taking full advantage of them.
I have written for myself, from time to time, in a notebook or random Word docs, but it’s time to bring the words back to life, and shake the dust off. Blogging is what got me into writing to begin with, so it makes sense to me to return to it here with a clean page. If you’re interested in the old stuff, though, you can find it here.
So this is me, setting intentions to write for myself again. To write without worrying too much if it’s shitty, because my writing represents me. And sometimes I feel shitty, and it comes out in my writing. That’s okay.
I also have to give credit to the writing class I’m taking this month with Cara Benson for helping the creative juices to flow. We literally can write whatever we want (prompts are given) and we can choose to share it, or not. It’s delightful. The class name itself avoids pressure, “Writing Without Worrying About What To Call It.” It’s been exactly what I needed.
I’ll end this with something I wrote back in November, that had been sitting idly in a file on my laptop for months. Breathe little poem, breathe!
I Lost the Words
I lost the words somewhere.
I left them in essays and analyses
Scattered in old notes and unanswered letters
Scribbled on bathroom walls and paper napkins
Filed in manila icons with obscure names
I abandoned them there, to face the world alone
While I kept on – quietly
Leaving them where they got heavy
Where I couldn’t fit them back in my mouth
Where my pen bled dry and my hand said no more
Where my fingers ached to type
And eyes strained against the screen
I lost the words somewhere
Will they find their way back home?