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It's Happening Again

I'm feeling anxious about writing and I hate that.

It's like I'm scared to sit down and put my thoughts on paper.

At the same time, I feel like I'm living my life with narration.

It seems - lately - that every conversation or event that is occurring around me suddenly turns into this inner dialogue. It's flowing. It's poetic. It's funny. It's a deep look into the mind of a crazy woman the way she views the world.

But when I get to the place where I can write it down, I freeze up.

I need to figure out a plan. Perhaps I'll get a tape recorder. Or force myself to some quiet, writing time at the same time each day.

There are parts of me that likes when the going gets tough with my writing because then it validates to me that it's not something just anyone and everyone can do.

But at the same time, it's scary because it has always been something that has just come easy to me.

I'm not meaning to sound conceited or pretentious. It's simply the way it has always been.

Without sounding too melodramatic - ; ) - it's kind of like when you breathe. You just have always known how to do it. Like an instinct.

Imagine forgetting about how to breathe. A bit scary eh?

I have just lost my motivation. I'm no longer on a roll.

I know it will come back. It's just a matter of time.


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My regular journaling has significantly improved my mood.

I've been taking some time, twice a week, to polish existing content as well as develop my floating ideas into a more concrete outline.

I've felt this focus for the last 6 weeks that I can't really describe properly. It's as though I've shifted my thinking totally. Writing is my craft. It's what I do, who I am, how I exist. It's like my mojo.

So, I guess, I've gotten my mojo back. My focus, my purpose, my essence.

And it feels good. It feels right. And I am almost understanding more now why the best writing of the best writers happens when they are older, more polished, more experienced, more rough around the edges.

When all the youthful spark has been extinguished and what's left, is the determined embers, that will not go softly, that will not die out. That will continue, fervently glowing, creating warmth and not just drawing attention from its flicker, but pulling people in by it's so…