For as long as I can remember I have loved writing. I don’t remember exactly when the bug took hold but I pinpoint it to the early millennium when I was in the first throes of my pop music obsession and needed an outlet to deal with it. I don’t know why, but I decided to write about the various pop stars at the time (You know Britney, Justin, Nick [both Carter and Lachey], Jessica and Christina) in this fangled melodramatic soap opera. I say this with fondness.
I didn’t write again seriously until I was in my late teens. Picture it: Britney’s in and out of rehab. I’m in and out of the hospital. How do I deal? By writing poetry and…journaling? I picked up more than medication while I was hospitalized. I picked up one of the greatest habits of my life. Did I hate it, at first, having to journal three times a fucking day? Are you kidding me? It irked the shit out me. Something in it appealed to me though because I continue to do it to this day whether I’m happy, sad, elated, or bored. I have a deep need to reflect back on things and seeing as my memories can play tricks on me it’s nice to have a written record.
Writing has always been something I’ve done for pleasure, but for the past few years I’ve been chasing that elusive goal: to be published. I was published albeit on a tiny scale and you know what? Nothing changed. I got what I wanted and while I was excited, of course, my old feelings of not feeling like I measured up and needing to prove myself still came back.
I’ve been focusing so much on trying to get published that I lost sight of why I began to write in the first place. Because I love it. Writing seems more like a chore and not something I look forward to. It seems like *gasp* a job! Not a career!
I’m determined to change that. I’m going back to the basics. I need to find my love for writing again. I know one thing for sure: I’ll enjoy the ride.