I seem to have lost my way.
Not so long ago I was passionate and enthusiastic about writing. At the moment I can’t seem to feel the same amount of excitement or accomplishment that spurred me on a few weeks ago. This might have something to do with the fact that my health has deteriorated over this period, so I am now concentrated on a struggle to maintain my daily lifestyle (and my job) rather than bask in the glory of my free-time hobby.
But this blog isn’t about my health issues, it’s about a different struggle. It’s about the desire to be a writer. I don’t want to be a tokenistic writer who only writes a mish-mash of unrelated sentences that create no cohesive whole: anybody could do that (though I’m not quite sure why they would really want to). Writing is about making sense of the world – whether that be the one we are living in, or the creation in our own mind of a world we would like to portray. It’s about expression and escape. I read in order to get lost in someone else’s world. I write in order to lose myself in the world of my characters in an attempt to potentially invite others into seeing what I see. I want writing to be a part of who I am, not just something I do because I feel I should.
I want to write. Yet I have no idea at the moment what it is I would like to write about. I have my novel outline, but each time I return to it I feel a sense of duty to get it written down. I don’t want to do it just yet, however I feel I should. Thus, I write nothing else of value because I feel I ought to be spending my writing time on that idea. Ironically, in setting out my novel it is now stifling my creativity. I feel an obligation to get it done; that I should prioritise it and studiously work toward the outcome that is this story in its entirity. I have written myself into a corner and am afraid to come out of it. Well, no more. I need to move forward, and if that means putting that novel idea to one side for a little while and letting it settle while I exercise my mind with other creative exploits: So be it.
I need to accept that sometimes things take time. I will never be able to write what I want to if I am being railroaded into it by my conscience. I need to be set free in order to return to the project with a sense of purpose and desire, and to get to this place I have to learn how to express myself, how to write consistently so that when I begin the novel I can follow through in an even approach to the end. I’m not yet confident enough in my skills as a writer to begin the novel. I haven’t yet explored all the ideas I need to experiement with to know what it is I really want to say. The structure is there waiting for me when I am ready to return to it. But, for now, I need to be able to make those mistakes that I inevitably should so that I can write with some purpose and be confident that I’m doing my ideas justice.