As a child I never said,
“When I grow up I want to be a writer.”
There was never a need.
I was born a writer.
It is what I am.
What I do.
When I am happy or sad.
Confused or hurt.
When I’ve got it all together or I’m a complete mess.
So it was a surreal feeling when early last week I felt like I couldn’t write anymore.
That every word that flowed from me was pained.
Every thing I wrote was putrid.
Now don’t ge me wrong, I believe in exploring the range of emotions.
But this didn’t seem healthy.
And so I decided to post that I was taking a break to let my heart heal.
But more importantly I think I wanted my writing to heal.
I wasn’t sure how long it would take.
A few days. A couple of weeks. Maybe even months.
It scared me to even think about.
And then a novel thought occurred to me (insert sarcasm here).
Why not just write myself through this funk?
Yes my posts may be negative or even depressing.
But that’s what writing is about.
It’s about taking one’s heart and laying it bare for everyone and anyone to see.
That’s what I do.
What I will continue to do.