Real writing is hard. Real writing–the kind of writing that comes from a truly authentic place within you seems somewhere close to impossible. It’s not that I have a lack of things to say. I have strong opinions about things that are happening in the world from the mundane: the intense consumerism that we all agree to call “celebrating Christmas” to the overarching: injustice in the world.
I get thoughts of whimsy and wonder and often think about things I could write about. I read interesting writing prompts and think I could write that. I read a trite piece of writing and think I could write that, but better. And currently while some are very outdated I have 41 working drafts for this blog. I don’t lack for things to write about.
Despite all this why does it seem like the well has dried up? I guess because it kind of has. Real talk: the mildly miserable feeling hasn’t really gone away. School is always in the back of my mind no matter how consciously I’m not thinking of it. And I certainly don’t need to be happy to write, but I don’t have a lot of honesty or energy to give to my writing. Mostly when I get home I’m exhausted and I just want to eat, relax and have the opportunity to care for people who have the capacity to care for me back.
Sure I could spend some of that time working on a piece of writing (and I always make sure to write my piece for the Odyssey come hell or high water or just utter exhaustion), more often than not though the temptation of doing nothing or at least something less demanding calls my name.
I feel like a few months ago I was so invigorated by this blog and the part of me that identifies as a writer, now I feel a little jaded. The mildly miserable part of me is impacting every aspect of my life. It keeps me apathetic, it means I don’t have the emotional energy I used to, it means I feel sapped creatively (especially when I have to put so much work into my lesson plans), it means I spend too much time and focus on my job than anything else going on in the world.
And honestly I still kind of wonder when I barely have the energy to keep up with this how can I ever become a paid writer. Someone who is sought out. Right now I barely have the energy to create let alone pursue avenues of publication. Also sometimes I see such great writing and even crappy writing and I wonder how can I get out there. I’m not popular, I don’t feel I have an particularly unique perspective, and I might be a good writer, but there are plenty more talented writers out there. Yet still I write, you’re reading this after all.
The Daily Post one word prompt is ostentatious which means: characterized by vulgar or pretentious display; designed to impress or attract notice. Sometimes as a writer I think that’s what I want, to write stuff that impresses or grabs attention. And I hate that I don’t. I hate that I barely even write enough to get in basic foot traffic. I also know having that as a motivation will burn me out and make me inauthentic.
I don’t know where this blog is going. From Glitter Days to #AdultingAdventures I’m always trying something new. I hope one day I’ll find my full authentic voice. I’ll find what sticks. I won’t ever write something just to get likes and shares. I guess at the end of the day that’s why I still putter on this blog, because I have hope that one day with the practice and repetition of writing I’ll write all the things I was born to write. I’ll write with openness and authenticity. It’ll be my own authentic voice. And by then I won’t need the validation of readers because I’ll know what I wrote is worth reading and the readers who need it will find it. That’s the hope anyway. So I will continue to write through this weird time. And perhaps in time as things shift in my life I’ll be able to more readily write the things that are bubbling under the surface. Till then I write and I glitter in only the ways I can.