I’ve been online and offline the past few years with everything up in the air. I often ask myself why? Why have I been ignoring my website, my books, social media outlets, and creative writing in general? It’s a question I’ve let plague me for years. I try to answer it and get inspired, and the circle of excitement, doubt, and then nothingness follows.
It usually starts with an urge to make something. I want to: draw, or write, or sing, or…something. I want to create. I want to create something awesome, or great, sometimes I’d even accept a simple ‘good.’ This is followed by indecisiveness on which creative path to follow in that instant. Time goes by, I think some more of what I want to do, and then I announce internally that it’s too late to start anything now. Let the TV watching or video game gaming commence. Other times I just go to bed early.
I’ve watched as fellow authors have come and gone from the industry, choosing instead another adventure. Although not active, I’m generally watching. Of course, only in a non-creepy way…
I’ve let myself feel immense guilt over not writing. Over ignoring something I once loved. I told myself I wouldn’t be able to reach the stature and sales I once had. The landscape of publishing changes quickly, and if you’re not watching you might miss something. I did miss something. I missed the fact that I didn’t start writing to have a career and make a living. I was fortunate in that I was able to do that for a time, but I let that dream go in search of a life with less solitude. Throughout the entirety of my inner dialogue, I forgot the fact that I love to write. I write for me. That’s what makes my books so special. They’re a passion come to life. In addition, I missed the fact that I could’ve made a social life whilst maintain a writing life. I missed a great many things. But the best part of this crazy little thing we call life is that nothing is certain, and certainly nothing is permanent. It’s never too late.
Writing, publishing, and creating, in general, is a choice. It’s something you do with intent, whether you know where the path is leading or not, you intend to create. Sometimes it’s a mess of paint on canvas not truly resembling anything, yet somehow it makes you feel something. What? That’s as much in the eye of the beholder as anything. Sometimes it’s a mess of words you can’t decipher, but it could be something, maybe. If you add this or move this here, or add a little of that.
All I know for sure is that I miss the clickity-clack of the keys. I miss the rhythm of words and sentences bouncing off the keyboard. I miss more than anything watching a world unfold before me. I miss the creating part. And so I’ve decided I shall.
I recently got myself up and running on a new laptop. The key travel is a little different than I’m used to, but I’m slowly getting accustomed to it. It feels good; just tapping the keys out in a row. I love it. It’s like the smell outside just after it’s rained; earth and air and water all coming together in a symphonic scent. It’s a tap and a click, and a melody I can feel.
What am I going to write? To start with, this blog post. After that, another. Then? Whatever I want. Whatever I feel. Whatever speaks to me.
I have two books on the go. One in the loose outline stage I like to play with regularly, one in the idea stage, a sequel to a previously published book, and another that’s been written more than a few times. If you’ve followed me for any length of time, that’s Sacred Cities. Both the love of my book life and the bane of my existence. Which will come first? I’ve no idea. At the moment I’m not setting timelines or even plans of publishing. The only thing I’m setting is writing goals.
Goal 1: write words.
Once I’m there, I’ll figure the rest out. One way or another, I realize this is something I want in my life. I need it. I need to write, I need to create, I want to build something. In order to do that, I have to make the time. I have to take it. And it’s all on me to do that. I have the support of an incredible family who has never held me back. I feel both relief and frustration with that fact. I realize I’m the only one who has been stopping me all this time. It seems I’m always the only one in my own way.
Time to move.