It is a gloomy day here in my hometown; particularly one that requires a cardigan for any living soul indoors. How do I feel? How do I feel? I haven’t given this writing thing a go for a while. (Oh, I am sure you have noticed). So, I am not going to worry about hooking you, the reader, much today and I’ll just let it flow for the next bit. Ok? Ok.
A few sentences in conversation with my mother at a time that seems long ago now is somewhere easy to reach in my mind.
“I don’t know how you keep writing. I wouldn’t be able to write unless I had feedback, I knew people were reading.”
“Oh, that’s not me. I do it for me. Sort of therapeutic.” (Obviously did NOT spell therapeutic right on the first go. Ha-ha!)
The moral of the story… the moral of this story. Obviously, it seems I have not been the woman of my words, not as strongly as I wished. What have I been doing? I have been writing for people to read, sort-of-awkwardly freelancing, barely making enough money to support a living, and… well… I am published on a nationally recognized paper—certainly not globally and certainly not English. (I’ll probably compile and share them all here at some point but don’t let me get ahead of myself here, please).
Being a recognized author by close family has been good and my dad is quite proud of me (I don’t get it but it’s cool). The work I do mainly requires me to talk to credible people about current events, ask questions, and transcribe their insights. I was high off it writing the first few articles; then, there came a point in which it wasn’t satisfying anymore. Hence, I came to recognize that any writing, for me, has to have the right dose of me in it.
This does not I am quitting writing altogether. And quite frankly, I do not have many things that fulfill my soul at the moment. I live to create and create to live. In the image of you, God.
This means amidst increasing covid cases, continuing travel restrictions, and my more and more horrified outlook in life in general, I am trying really hard to act like everything is normal. In reality, things are far from normal, we are all going through it in some way, and, well, it sucks.
My plan? My plan? My plan. (The more you say it the better it sounds like a good idea to invent an agenda-like smartphone app with the same name). Yes, my plan is to… I don’t have a plan. Until January? I am ready for 2020 to be over like the next person. I hope this little text will let you know that I don’t want to be absent on my blog anymore, but I also don’t know how to not be absent. Motivation comes and goes these days.
Maybe I’ll write a little more today. No promises.
Miss you. You, and the blog that doesn’t have a soul.