I am trying to get back in the rhythm of writing again. This year has been harder in terms of energy to write than any I have encountered before. I always thought of block as not having anything to say. Instead it has manifested as not feeling it is worth saying something because no one cares or listens and it makes no difference.
I am getting past that. It’s kind of tied up into issues that are more about my life than my writing. My writing is not therapy or escape, but something else. I’ve just found of late that those other obstacles were things my creative self couldn’t climb over.
I like what I create, and I enjoy the game of creating it. It’s never been entirely about the audience and the metrics, but maybe having lost a job and not doing so well in other pursuits I am involved in threw the focus onto my writing in the wrong way. The funny thing is, that focus arriving from an off-kilter place destabilised my own viewpoint of its worth more than it would have if I were perhaps just saying to myself, I like my work and maybe I’d like more people to read it.
Doing one or two pieces a day every day may bleed into the longform work again. The pandemic rewired some of the things I do on a regular, and my energy levels, and I am intending to step past that. I killed my coffee intake and my adrenals seem to be repairing. In some regards my stomach is better, though stomach issues have been the skipping stone of chaos through this year.
This will be the year of finishing stories. I say this three months in, but putting something there as an idea is important. That’s the idea for this year: finishing projects.