My hands itch.
My fingers are tingling to write down words, to type out something that matters. I want to prove myself but also feel comforted after expressing my thoughts. I want to be heard, I want to be clear, and oh, I want to be so clever.
But today, I don’t write.
Today every letter looks out of place and every phrase sounds cliched. My backspace key is practically on fire. It’s painstaking and I give up in the middle of every sentence.
Every idea seems old.
“It’s been done before.”
Someone else has written it and they have an award to show for it. Somewhere else there’s a clearer picture or a funnier joke or a more catchy melody.
Maybe I should just skip today. After all, I’ve said I would write more this month, but I’m not feeling it. And if I’m not feeling it, no one will care and it will just come out annoying and desperate and boring, and there’s enough of that on the internet and in real life already.
Am I a writer because I call myself one or because I actually write?
Am I only as strong as my most recent paragraph?
Why am I even writing this internal dialogue down?
Paranoia aside, sometimes creativity is like an ex-boyfriend that doesn’t call anymore, and then when he does, we practically get married in Vegas that night, but the next morning, I wake up alone, covered in glitter and only a few paragraphs to show for it.
Writing is weird and strange and uncomfortable. It’s waves of inspiration and self-criticism and trusting yourself to interpret things that sometimes require no words, and frankly, I’m no expert at it. Most days I’m mad at it, and most days I’m intimidated by it, but I keep coming back to it, and I guess that’s something in itself. I think half of your “dreams” are divine intervention and half are just being consistent and coming back to that same dream and working your ass off at it, and even then, failing and not meeting every expectation, but still coming back for more. Showing up every time you were supposed to give up and continuing to pursue it like it’s everything.
I bought LionHairedGirl.com a year ago, (officially today!) and I was so terrified that I’d end up a fake who never wrote anything and waste both my money and my ego on it.
But, for better or worse, I keep coming back.
There are very few circles where “I have a blog!” is the first thing out of my mouth. It’s equal parts exhilarating and embarrassing to think I have earned a very tiny bit of credibility in sharing my life and thoughts for the internet to read, but I continue to try my hand at running whatever this website you’re currently reading is and could become.
I don’t always know why I write or where I’m going, but I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for making this year as a ‘dot com’ so very meaningful. All of your encouragement towards my writing is the icing on a great wordsy cake, and I truly read every single comment and email, good or bad, with a happy heart that you read my words in the first place.
So, I’m here. Sticking around through “writer’s block” and “twentysomething syndrome” and too many puppy photos I almost put in every post, I’m still here, writing.*
*At least until Beyonce needs a stand-in, though. Then, I’m out.
Oh, and since you made it through this sappy and confusing post, here’s a song that knocked me over in the best way. I love words, and I love them even more when David Ramirez sings them: