I've been living in a world of sloppy writing recently. My notebooks are full of standalone paragraphs that don't belong to a story, crammed in between class notes and grocery lists. I have way too many beginnings and almost no endings. This blog has stopped being something fun, an escape from the rough, real world and become a burden I stress over. I no longer write for myself anymore. I used to open up and bleed word after word, page after page, because they were bursting to escape from my brain that was packed too full of lives I've never lived and worlds that don't exist. I stopped being carefree and loose with my writing and became tight and reserved, typing sentences over and over, choosing bigger words and different metaphors. Now I comb over old posts and cringe at how forced they read. How obvious it is to me that I was grabbing at ideas that I could easily muster up the right words for a easily writeable post. (That sentence doesn't look right but you get the idea. I'm gonna leave it like that and see what happens. CAREFREE!) I became lazy, scouring the web for ideas and settled for ones that were simple. (Friday Letters is a great idea but its not my idea and that's what makes it lazy.)
In a nutshell, I've lost my drive. Writing is no longer fun and it is no longer an outlet. Instead I now have to find outlets FROM writing. And yes, sometimes that's necessary, especially for those that do it for a living. But I don't...yet. I'm losing my love for what I want to do with my life. I'm not one to do something if I don't want to do it. Most people know that about me. If I lose this love now, I might not find it again.
The title of this blog says it all. I write THINGS. I pick and choose subjects, some that don't even speak to me, and just write things about them. I want to write stories that ramble. I want to write thoughts that are dangerous. I want to touch ideas that I've never even considered before. I want words to flow not gradually ooze as I squeeze the last mediocre drops out of me.
Now, don't get me wrong. There are plenty of posts on here that I am proud of. My posts about my sisters, A Girl Who Writes, I am a Novel, and even my oddball post about zombie nightmares are all bits of writing I am extremely proud of. But I have gradually oozed into a big old ball of blah. And so I have decided to end this blog. I know, I know. Another blog I've given up on. But this one is with good reason. I'm not giving up. I'm merely starting over. I'm not going to start a new blog right away. First, I'm going to finish up this last semester of school. I do want to graduate so I can start living the struggle of being a writer for hire. Also, I have started a project that I think might actually make its way all the way to an ending. Trust me, I am about as shocked as you. Also, if I start another blog I need it to have purpose. I need it to go somewhere and follow a path and right now I don't know what that path is. Maybe I'll start up a fashion blog; maybe I'll start doing crafts? No. Probably not the crafts. But I do know this phase has come to an end. When a new blog arises, you will know. Until then, thank you SO MUCH to everyone that read this one and all those who liked my facebook page. One day when I'm rich and famous, you can all say you knew me when I was a fledgling little writer, lost and as confused as I most likely will be then.
I feel as though I put something down and I can't remember what it was. I feel as though I need it for something, but I can't remember what for. I feel as though when I arrive somewhere far away from the room I'm in looking for the thing I don't recall for the reason I don't remember, I'll realize what it was that I needed and will be without it. I feel as though without it, I won't know what to do and the situation will get the best of me and I'll fall apart all because of one little thing that I can't remember what it was or where it is or why I need it for what.
ReplyDeleteI feel as though you're taking something I love away from me, and I'm ashamed that I selfishly want you to write more when I know that the next venture you fall in love with will make you even more amazing of a writer than you are now, and I'll love it even more than I love this, where every word grips me and sucks me in and captivates me for the brief 500 words of escape to a thought process created by you, a mind I love having fractions of time that linger for eternity in which I truly understand you.
I feel as though I just reached the end of a book I hoped would never end, and the final chapter left me in tears because a character I loved most died tragically never to be created on paper or my imagination ever again. And I think to myself hopelessly: "Sure, there will be other chapters, other characters, other stories. But I will never forget this one."
Ugh. James. Now I really am sad.
ReplyDeleteYou said it perfectly.
Well, goodbye to this blog. Can't wait for the next adventure. :)
With love,
Mommy