Why hello there, thanks for stopping by, random impromptu blogging here. It could get interesting… let’s see how this goes.
Last night, after much kicking and screaming, ManFriend agreed to watch…..
I know right, how I talked him into it is nothing short of a Christmas miracle. So we settle into the opening credits, which only resulted in a half dozen ManFriend under his breath comments. Yet another small victory. About a half hour into the movie ManFriend leans over and this conversation happens:
ManFriend “Oh I get it, you wanted to see this movie because it’s about a writer.”
B “Why would that make me want to see this movie?”
ManFriend “Because you’re a writer, duh.” (yes there was actually a duh)
B “I’m not a writer.”
ManFriend “Oh you aren’t huh, then what are you? Because when I look at you I see a writer.”
You see up until about a year ago I knew exactly what I wanted from life. I would write a book, find an agent, publish said book, and have happy happy readers. Life would be good. Then reality set in, writing was easy, editing made me want to kick puppies (disclaimer: no puppies were wounded in the making of this blog, nor would a tiny puppy fall victim to a punt from my foot, this is simply dramatic umph). Editing I found, kept me up late at night, caused me to question my talent, and forced me into a dark dark corner that no writer ever wants to find themselves in.
The corner devoured me about 8 months ago. I stopped writing. Stopped cold turkey and put on blinders to anything involving writing. I occupied my time with crafting, even teaching myself to crochet. With my almost 30 life crisis in full swing I told those close to me, I don’t want to write anymore. They smiled, nodded, and prepared for the Bpocalypse. My talent had dried up, I was useless, a writer in a wordless world. It was all a rather dramatic spiral of insecurities and Negative Nancy ways of thinking. I was a frumpy huffy down and out hot mess. Then I just stopped talking about it all together, stopped thinking about it even for a second, and filled my head with other things.
Then came last night, a simple movie night in appearance, but an eye opening moment at its core. ManFriend still saw it, through all of my life makeup and fancy frilly coverup, deep down inside of my heart… I’m a writer. Scared, nervous, self doubting, high-strung, overly emotional writer. I put pen to paper creating worlds and people that I love as though they walked from the pages. I feel every single period, comma, and quotation. Every details is obsessed over, “Should she wear the purple sundress or the tan jumper?” My world will always have a hole in it, if I’m not writing.
So I stand before you knock knock knocking on 30’s door and I’m scared. I’m terrified. I’m bamboozled. I’m a fiction writer who is going to set out on writing her first book post Writer Meltdown. (I’ve written 5 other fiction books that I’ve been to chicken to pull out of my desk drawer.) I’m not sure where this adventure is going to take me, but I’m feeling more like me today than I did last week. In being reminded of the writer within my bones, I’m ready.
Thanks for sharing in this “Ah hah” moment with me.
As always, until next time.
Keep it Sassy & Classy,