Once upon a time, my writing was my baby. I loved it, and lavished it with attention, and in my free time I couldn't wait to spend some quality time with it.
Then, I had a baby, and my writing was displaced. It wasn't just a matter of finding the time. More alarmingly, for the first time ever, I just didn't want or need to write. I wasn't writing online, or in my journals. The only writing I've been doing it the kind that pays my bills, because a job is a job.
I've always loved the Joan Didion quote, "I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking." For as long as I remember that's been true. Through my dad's mental health struggles, I wrote, and it was therapeutic. I wrote through my travels, and through my pregnancy. But then the desire was gone.
The last eight months have been a jolt, tougher than I could have imagined. With so much intensity day to day - the good, and the bad - it seemed impossible to write about what I was experiencing too. I just had to ride the wave, and live it here and now. And boy was I relieved to realize that other writers feel the same way. Sometimes, you just have to experience things, without worrying about finding the words to describe them.
Luckily, like most love affairs, the flame that has died down can spring back up with a little care and attention. And with all those month stored up, I should have plenty to say...
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