The process

Writing is hard. I don’t mean it’s difficult to form thoughts and use words to express them.

Back in the day, I didn’t believe in editing. I wanted my thoughts down and out, as raw and unedited as they could be. So I would word vomit somewhere, and very rarely, would I go back to read it over. Its purpose was done. I’d gotten it out safely, and there was no need to go back. (Really great philosophy that I’m pretty sure extended to many other areas of my life besides writing, but then… that’s not what this post is about.)

These days, I see the value in having at least a bare cohesion of thought weaving throughout any post. So if I can keep a hint of of a theme, I try. But that doesn’t come with a stream of consciousness post.

Composing a blog post takes about half an hour. I always hit publish as soon as I’m done. Editing doesn’t come easily for me. I can’t do it just for me, so after I hit publish, I immediately go to the published post, and read it as if someone just got a notification and is reading it that second. I repeat that process up to a day after the post is published. Which means, anyone that does rush to read the published post in the first few hours, likely won’t get the final, finished product.

And that’s not even the hardest part of writing. Writing is rarely the most difficult part of writing.

As some of you may know, I went through a bad case of writer’s block for about a five to eight year period (time does weird things for me). After having kept some sort of collection of pen scratchings since I was about nine years old, this sudden attack of literary silence was… traumatic, to say the least.

I think the worst thing about that radio silence, wasn’t that I couldn’t seem to write, it was that my writers brain didn’t stop either.

Every moment of every day, words dance in my head. I never just see a tree. Or a coffee pot. Or a stuffed animal. I see a proud, loyal protector of nature stationed in bright array at his post, and a cauldron of a hot, delicious magic elixir, with my familiar, and keeper of secrets and memories. It’s not an easy world to live in when there’s nowhere to express it. And trust me, I’ve tried. People look at you really weirdly.

All of this is all fine and nice, but really none of it matters if you can never get into that special writers space. That elusively safe place where thoughts can stream straight from your brain through your fingertips, no matter the medium, unencumbered. And this space requires certain things… a mood, a setting, a thought, a medium, an environment, a different combination each time. And those needs can change. Only the lucky can find a place to just sit down and write like that any time they like. So, once you find it, you must fight for it. Words are life. You must take them back, no matter the cost, when you find them again, once they’ve been lost.

And that’s been my struggle. Now that I have the words, I’m trying to find a safe space to express them in this chaotic life of mine. But I will fight for them. And I will express them. And I really no longer care what anyone else thinks about that. I only care that I do it, for me, and for anyone else who might find something good from them. And that will never be accomplished without trying.

So no, I won’t ever let myself lose anything I’ve lost and found again. Five years is a long time. But I’m back, baby! And I’m so glad *you* are here. I wouldn’t be here without you.

Thank you for reading ♡

(edited: sixth and final draft fr fr)