When A Writer Isn’t Writing

Writing is a part of me. And just like any other creative pursuit it has to come from a real place to be impactful. I can’t edit certain parts of my life to please anyone.

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Me: "Dear writing gods, forgive me for I have sinned. It has been five months since I last posted on my blog."

Writing Gods: "My daughter what has caused you to leave your creativity to gather dust?"

Me: "Fear."

Ernest Hemingway once said that there is nothing to writing, you just sit down to the typewriter and bleed.

I find myself with a fear of blood.

There was a time when I bared and bled the pains and humiliations of my life on this blog, sometimes at the behest of my family. I felt no embarrassment because I believed I was giving a voice to things that others felt but never had the nerve to say out loud. But even in my transparency I was still writing through the lens of what certain people would think.

In the spirit of honesty I’ll just say who those “certain people” are, my Christian friends and acquaintances who have always been so great with reading and supporting my blog. So I made sure to stay conservative. But some things have happened in my life that felt too raw to share. Things that could possibly offend or concern my Christian community.

I used to revel in the task of organizing my thoughts on paper and getting them out of my head, however there is finality in writing. Once I write something down then it’s real, and I can no longer deny that this is how I feel or what I’ve decided. Blogging is a public forum and there is potential for negative commentary from others.
Despite these facts I’m still driven by this need to comfort those who might be experiencing the same thing and find vindication for myself.

Writing is a part of me. And just like any other creative pursuit it has to come from a real place to be impactful. I can’t edit certain parts of my life to please anyone. It’s my experience and no one can take that away from me.
So I guess this is me apologizing to the writing gods, this blog, my readers, and most importantly myself for not using my gift. I will do better, promise. β™₯

Creatively Constipated

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A friend asked me today why I hadn’t I posted anything new on my blog, she needed something to read on her lunch break. I know she was joking but it is a valid question, I haven’t posted anything in a while. I’ve been trying to journal, but everything I write comes out as incoherent babble. This has never happened to me before, usually the writing is what helps me get myself together. Then I turn it into a post or a poem on my Instagram account. I’m creatively constipated and it’s not a good feeling.

I’ve been experiencing so many different emotions in these last few weeks. Anxiety, restlessness, loneliness, sorrow, anger, frustration, weariness, I don’t know what to write out about first. I start out writing about the anxiety and that turns into something about anger. Or I’ll start writing about the loneliness and end up with something about restlessness. But none of it makes sense anyway, and it’s not conveying correctly what it is I want to say. So I stay blocked unable to get that release.

It feels like I’ve been thrown overboard into a deep ocean and I’m trying to make it to the surface but I can’t and the more I swim the farther away it gets. I’m growing weak and running out of air. I’m drowning.

Well there you go, finally some release. Thank you Rasha for stirring me up a bit.