I spent years in the writing industry trying to fulfill my lifelong dream of writing. When those hopes imploded, so did the part of my creativity that was capable of penning stories. For several years, any writing that I did was limited to work emails, short text/Messenger messages, Facebook posts, and postcards/short letters that I mailed to a few people. I attempted to start another blog about a year ago about life here in the Carolinas, but I simply didn’t have enough desire to continue. I even set a goal of finishing a half-written novel. It took a year and a half. My disgust at myself and at the process made the act of writing too difficult. You can’t write what you don’t love.
Over the past few months, the desire to write decided to creep back. When I say creep, I mean slink back without an apology or even meeting my eye. It just wanted to pretend it was there and always had been. Not stories. I'm not ready to go there again. Just writing. Since it’s incredibly difficult to ignore (somewhat like my late Jack Russell Terrier when he wanted a Scooby Snack) I recently started writing in my journal again. The entries haven’t been long thus far, and they’re limited to the what, where and when of my day, but it seems to satiate the rotten little fiend.
Then…sigh…then blogging came to mind, along with everything I could have been sharing about all the history I’d learned over the past few years, the trips we took, and more. So I’m giving it a try. My posts will likely include old FB posts as they come up in my memories, but I don’t have a problem with that. No need to waste the effort it took to write them.
If you’re still following this blog, thank you. And if you’re wondering what I’ve been up to, the answer is reading, studying history, and loving life as a, as my grandkids decided to call me, a Memaw.
I hope you’re doing well, too.