I Wish I Could Write Again
Sometimes I get really good ideas. I'm learning more and more that I'm a starter.
Sometimes I experience things or have conversations with people that I really want to write about.
So my Chrome opens, I click on the Blogger tab, start a new post, title it...and then nothing. I might type out a few lines and then the idea goes away, the drive goes away. So I save a draft telling myself I'll return to it later.
And I never do.
I wish I could write again like I used to. I wish I could word vomit all the things I've been feeling and thinking and experiencing all over this text box, but what good is that going to do? I see blog posts all the time; blog posts literally everywhere, and I ask myself where my own nugget of truth is? Where is the thought or idea that's going to fuel my ego when I get all the likes and all the shares on social media, or get the stats up on how many people viewed this?
Oh right...it's not there. All I have to work with is writer's block. More like writer's slab of concrete on my brain squishing my ability to think and be creative. I wish I could write with the zeal and the passion to share what God is teaching me and showing me and doing in my life, but right now I can't find that anywhere either. This is at least the fifth draft I have saved, and maybe I'll actually hit publish this time. Maybe this is just me ranting for a minute so that can chip a chunk of concrete off my brain.
Maybe this is me discovering that as I write, I am finding I'm more of a modern-day David than anything. I was reading through older blog posts and some journal entries over this past year, and the way I was writing made me question my mental state a little bit if I'm being honest. Do I sound this unstable when I talk out loud? Why does my life look so much like the book of Psalms? Where is all of this emotion coming from?
The emotion comes from a soul predominantly in distress.
The emotion comes from a twenty-something struggling to find out what she wants without succumbing to the lie that it has to all be figured out in the next two minutes.
The writings will come again; hopefully with a little more life, although the ebb and flow of emotion probably won't change. I want to be positive and uplifting, but this may be more of a season of pressing into those deeper emotions like David did and not being afraid to write them down.
God help me to press into these seasons with the same fervor as David had.
Sometimes I experience things or have conversations with people that I really want to write about.
So my Chrome opens, I click on the Blogger tab, start a new post, title it...and then nothing. I might type out a few lines and then the idea goes away, the drive goes away. So I save a draft telling myself I'll return to it later.
And I never do.
I wish I could write again like I used to. I wish I could word vomit all the things I've been feeling and thinking and experiencing all over this text box, but what good is that going to do? I see blog posts all the time; blog posts literally everywhere, and I ask myself where my own nugget of truth is? Where is the thought or idea that's going to fuel my ego when I get all the likes and all the shares on social media, or get the stats up on how many people viewed this?
Oh right...it's not there. All I have to work with is writer's block. More like writer's slab of concrete on my brain squishing my ability to think and be creative. I wish I could write with the zeal and the passion to share what God is teaching me and showing me and doing in my life, but right now I can't find that anywhere either. This is at least the fifth draft I have saved, and maybe I'll actually hit publish this time. Maybe this is just me ranting for a minute so that can chip a chunk of concrete off my brain.
Maybe this is me discovering that as I write, I am finding I'm more of a modern-day David than anything. I was reading through older blog posts and some journal entries over this past year, and the way I was writing made me question my mental state a little bit if I'm being honest. Do I sound this unstable when I talk out loud? Why does my life look so much like the book of Psalms? Where is all of this emotion coming from?
The emotion comes from a soul predominantly in distress.
The emotion comes from a twenty-something struggling to find out what she wants without succumbing to the lie that it has to all be figured out in the next two minutes.
The writings will come again; hopefully with a little more life, although the ebb and flow of emotion probably won't change. I want to be positive and uplifting, but this may be more of a season of pressing into those deeper emotions like David did and not being afraid to write them down.
God help me to press into these seasons with the same fervor as David had.
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