I was good at creative writing as a child, love to craft stories of imagination. All through to the end of year 10, fiction was my favourite form of writing.
Final years of school was analysis and essays; critiques and opinions, arguments and assertion…or perhaps the other way round.
Fiction only existed in its ability to be ripped apart. Not built. Not constructed.
I keep meaning to return. I’m 50 now and still haven’t made it.
My writing is mostly reports, briefing papers, dodgy blogging. Creative outlets remain clogged. How did I write what I used to write?
Do I need a starting sentence, a topic, a thought? I am not good at beginning on an empty page.
I do not make time to sit, to write.
I am easily distracted, shiny things, anything.
Perhaps I need structure. I tend to live in the structure of others…it is still that I define myself, find myself, see myself in the company that I like to keep. Where I am, who I’m with, the things around; that is where I seek definition.
I internalise too many things and find it hard to engage with the world, to open up. Too much time alone, yet at times not enough.
So many contradictions in who I am. How I see myself now can be at odds with how I saw myself yesterday and how I will see myself tomorrow.
Moments I am bursting with ideas, others naught but self absorption. The balance is too often out.
All the things, all the time, all the places.
Have you ever tried morning pages? I’ve tried them off and on for helping to clear out some of the randomness in my head – at the very least they’re a great way to get back in the habit of writing regularly, with no expectations :)
Ta Sally. That’s an intriguing approach and I can see the value you in it. The downside is that it is a dramatic change to my morning routine of sleeping in to the last moment, then shower, dress and leave in the shortest possible time :-)
Haha, yes it is a dramatic change to just about anybody’s morning routine I think!