I am back into writing. I am not back into writing here, although this post would seem to suggest otherwise. I am back into writing for the joy, and anguish, and sorrow, and ecstacy of writing. When part of your job description includes writing, it can easily become tedious. Of course, in my line of work you are allowed quite a bit of lattitude to create and discover, but still. For a novice like myself, one column a month, and one creative welcome a month, really do me in. Not that I sit and craft a column for a month (I usually stew on it and then crap it out in about 4 hours) it is just that when I don't write for myself and at my own pace, I get cranky. Everybody does.
I am writing again and allowing myself the freedom to go wherever my mind takes me. I write memories, and bad poetry. I explore great similies, and I get lost in great metaphors. I don't do fiction that I know of. I love fiction, but "real life" is so interesting to me. I say "real life," because great fiction is its own real life. So I basically ended up saying nothing at all. Hooray for me.
This sounds enormously egotistical to me, but I rediscovered flashes of my own greatness. Or more precisely I rediscovered God's gifting in me. Occasionally, I'll pull out an old notebook and think to myself, "God, was that me? It couldn't have been, because there is no way I could do that now." But, I find time and again that if I give myself time and space to breath in God, he works through me. I can't force Him, anymore that you can force great writing. But being in the moment provides a good launching pad for your own exploration. God has given me the ability to write well, but I have left it undeveloped and ignored.
It is sad to me that I am worried now about what others will think of me. When you write you are exposed and even writing this junk, I am worried about the judgement of an online community. I gain such worth from others' approval. It is my makeup. The way I was designed and created. If I don't hear my own critic and wrestle him down, I never write. So I wrote online tonight. I don't really read my own blog, so I never have to worry about rediscovering it in some old notebook a year from now and thinking to myself how silly I was. Or worse, how right I was. Thankyou so much for listening. Mel, I appreciate you most of all.