Wednesday, May 16, 2012
A Promise to Myself
I didn't intend to start off here with such a heavy post. I fought against it for days, but . . . here it is.
Before I started this blog, I was elated. I mean, I could write about anything. I didn't have to write about the kids or school. I could write about things I'm interested in. My mind raced with possibilities. Then, I sat down to write.
At this point, I should explain something. I have never been one to suffer from writer's block. I might get stuck on a plot point or need a few days to work out a character flaw or some detail of that nature, but I could always, always sit down and write. Fiction, articles, anything. The words came. It might be crap, but I got words out on the paper. Words I could make not-crap later.
But, when I sat down to write here . . . I froze.
Then, it hit me. I haven't written anything like this in years. I think it all stopped after my dad died. I had bled enough of my soul, I had nothing left to put on the page at that time. So, as a sort of act of self-preservation, I shifted to fluff writing. Now, there's nothing wrong with that. I enjoy a nice, fluffy novel now and then, so I'm not noting this as a negative shift. Just a shift. I wrote romance and capers and I killed off characters and there were happily-ever-afters. I had fun writing. With my freelancing, I wrote how-to's, gave parenting tips, and logged craft and homeschooling projects. It was all honest and real, but it lacked substance. It lacked me. My heart. My soul.
I think, in opening up this space, that this is my way of saying it's time to open up again. Time to bleed on the page once more. I don't intend for all of my posts to be this heavy or that opening up needs to always be some somber or depressing event. It simply means that I'm making a promise, to myself, to suit up and show up, at least once a week, to bare my soul.