I'm back
Frankly, I've just been too depressed over the election to write anything. I've been burying my head in Sims2 and books about poetry. But my blog's stagnation is starting to depress me, so I'm back to it. Not like I get that many hits here anyway...
I used to consider myself a writer, but I really gave up writing several years ago. Then I picked up Matthew Fox's new book, Creativity.
Among other things, Fox posits that creativity is a sort of revealing; I see it as the revealing of the Self, and I suspect this is why I gave up writing.
Because the truth is, I have not been very interested in really revealing myself. I fear rejection. I fear being different. Which makes me a little sad, because the truth is we are each different. Fearing this is akin to fearing my own true Self.
So I started thinking about why I gave up writing, and what writing means to me. I couldn't put my finger on why I started a blog, except that I felt it would be an interesting experience, and a place to process my work, ideas, whatever. Now I see it as where my writing saw a chance to sneak out of me.
I'm not making it sneak out anymore. I've even written some poetry lately... bad poetry to be sure, but it's just for me, and I haven't really worked out my poetry muscles in an awfully long time. But I can feel something moving inside me (not in a scary, "The Believers" way), and I'm feeling ready to discover it.
I used to consider myself a writer, but I really gave up writing several years ago. Then I picked up Matthew Fox's new book, Creativity.
Among other things, Fox posits that creativity is a sort of revealing; I see it as the revealing of the Self, and I suspect this is why I gave up writing.
Because the truth is, I have not been very interested in really revealing myself. I fear rejection. I fear being different. Which makes me a little sad, because the truth is we are each different. Fearing this is akin to fearing my own true Self.
So I started thinking about why I gave up writing, and what writing means to me. I couldn't put my finger on why I started a blog, except that I felt it would be an interesting experience, and a place to process my work, ideas, whatever. Now I see it as where my writing saw a chance to sneak out of me.
I'm not making it sneak out anymore. I've even written some poetry lately... bad poetry to be sure, but it's just for me, and I haven't really worked out my poetry muscles in an awfully long time. But I can feel something moving inside me (not in a scary, "The Believers" way), and I'm feeling ready to discover it.
I think writing is very personal. You have to put so much of your inner self onto the page that it can be hard to (a) part with that and (b) deal with other people's reactions to what you put onto paper. Because their harsh words are really harsh words at the core of you, not just the words on paper.
I always feel a compulsion to write but an inbability to do so. I think the struggle is more then just can I put sentences together, I think it's a self-doubt and self-fear problem. So anyway, I "get" what you're saying and I think you make sense.
Posted by :: miss m :: | 9:42 AM
Writing is often more difficult when you're trying to say something important. Why? Because feelings are inexpressible. I can tell you how sick I am that this country re-elected Bush, but there really aren't words that describe those feelings accurately. And giving up on trying to express that, and turning to more trivial things don't work either. All I could do was say "I will do everything in my power to see that he does not destroy my country" and focus on that. It still sickens me when I stop and think about who sits in the White House. But I can't afford to let it really paralyze me.
Hang in there. Follow that reading - open heart, new discoveries, it all means more power.
Posted by Amie | 10:06 AM
I always blame the meds for my not taking the time to sit down and write. Or the muse has gone and I am out of prose. Or my poetry is crap and ameturish (sp?) or I can't f-ing spell or well you get the idea. Mabey you hit the nail on the head, mabey it's just fear.
Posted by broomhilda | 7:55 AM
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