I need to purge. I need to get this all out. It has been too
long since I wrote anything creatively.
So I am in writer’s rehab, that period of time where you have been out of the game for far too long and you are just getting your feet wet again.
That writing skill comes back, naturally, it always does.
But there is a lot of venom and toxin I need to get out first. I need to purge the bad words, the stilted ideas, and all of the frustration and bile. It all needs to come out. So I am writing anything that comes to mind, saving it, and writing something else I shall never release.
Well, maybe except this.
I wanted to share my rehab program, the books I read, and the steps I am taking to dive back in. One of the hardest parts was deciding that I do want to jump back in, so there was a huge leap to make to get over myself and work hard again. I have already shared ‘the what happened,’ so that has been discussed.
But I started back in on writing, and I hated the words I used. What came out wasn’t me, it felt like months of toxic trash regurgitating and I sat there looking at my work in disgust.
How could I get inspired?
What happened to me?
Is this the best I can do?
And then I realized this felt like popping a sore. Your body stores up the bad stuff and then waits for the right moment to purge. And purge I am doing. I respect my readers too much to share this toxic trash, but writing it feels like rehabilitation to me. I am stumbling along, falling on my ass, and learning how to ride that bike again.
So I am committing to writing something a day, at least one thing, and then storing that away in my journal. Eventually, I will get there and find my voice. But I have this feeling I just need to write and write and purge these demons. Some people love the demons and twisted tales of which I write, but even the demons have told me this is current work of mine is junk, and advised against releasing my torrent of spiteful wretchedness upon the world.
So write to rehab.
Write to rehab.
And write every day.
I need to drain these wounds. I need to purge this bile. And only writing shall save me. It will even out, and I know this, and stopping again will just set me back to the beginning. The healing process shall be done through a steady flow of words and ideas. The words I write shall each day heal me a little more. I will find that voice again.
It has been a while though.
It has been too long.
Perhaps I needed that time off. Perhaps I am being a little too hard on myself. Perhaps I had been chasing a false idol and placed so many hopes in something which just didn’t work out. It happens. The measure of our lives is often in how we recover from such events, rather than how successful we are at them.
But I know I can write. My words have always been true to my heart. They have always held power. Many times they have touched others. In this I know.
If your car breaks down on a long trip and you are forced to spend three days in some small town, what can you do? Do you get upset? Do you feel bad you have missed three days of vacation in some place you never wanted to be?
Or do you walk the streets of this small town, get to know the locals, and stop and take life in? Do you get to know where you are a little better? Is this where life meant you to be?
So, why worry about the delay and lost time? There is a lot to take in at this very moment. There is a whole new place to discover right where you are. If you fret about lost time and delayed work you will miss out on where you are at right now.
Sure, you need to get back on that road. I need to as well. I have a lot of writing to do before I am even ready to tackle a project in my comfortable writing voice. The car is fixed, the trunk is packed, and all your travel arrangements have been updated.
There is a long road ahead. Sure, you have lost a lot of time. there is a lot of getting back into it ahead.
But in a way, you haven’t lost any time at all.
It is all in the way you look at things.
There is both where you have been, and the long road ahead to write about.
So…let's get on that road and just write.
So I am in writer’s rehab, that period of time where you have been out of the game for far too long and you are just getting your feet wet again.
That writing skill comes back, naturally, it always does.
But there is a lot of venom and toxin I need to get out first. I need to purge the bad words, the stilted ideas, and all of the frustration and bile. It all needs to come out. So I am writing anything that comes to mind, saving it, and writing something else I shall never release.
Well, maybe except this.
I wanted to share my rehab program, the books I read, and the steps I am taking to dive back in. One of the hardest parts was deciding that I do want to jump back in, so there was a huge leap to make to get over myself and work hard again. I have already shared ‘the what happened,’ so that has been discussed.
But I started back in on writing, and I hated the words I used. What came out wasn’t me, it felt like months of toxic trash regurgitating and I sat there looking at my work in disgust.
How could I get inspired?
What happened to me?
Is this the best I can do?
And then I realized this felt like popping a sore. Your body stores up the bad stuff and then waits for the right moment to purge. And purge I am doing. I respect my readers too much to share this toxic trash, but writing it feels like rehabilitation to me. I am stumbling along, falling on my ass, and learning how to ride that bike again.
So I am committing to writing something a day, at least one thing, and then storing that away in my journal. Eventually, I will get there and find my voice. But I have this feeling I just need to write and write and purge these demons. Some people love the demons and twisted tales of which I write, but even the demons have told me this is current work of mine is junk, and advised against releasing my torrent of spiteful wretchedness upon the world.
So write to rehab.
Write to rehab.
And write every day.
I need to drain these wounds. I need to purge this bile. And only writing shall save me. It will even out, and I know this, and stopping again will just set me back to the beginning. The healing process shall be done through a steady flow of words and ideas. The words I write shall each day heal me a little more. I will find that voice again.
It has been a while though.
It has been too long.
Perhaps I needed that time off. Perhaps I am being a little too hard on myself. Perhaps I had been chasing a false idol and placed so many hopes in something which just didn’t work out. It happens. The measure of our lives is often in how we recover from such events, rather than how successful we are at them.
But I know I can write. My words have always been true to my heart. They have always held power. Many times they have touched others. In this I know.
If your car breaks down on a long trip and you are forced to spend three days in some small town, what can you do? Do you get upset? Do you feel bad you have missed three days of vacation in some place you never wanted to be?
Or do you walk the streets of this small town, get to know the locals, and stop and take life in? Do you get to know where you are a little better? Is this where life meant you to be?
So, why worry about the delay and lost time? There is a lot to take in at this very moment. There is a whole new place to discover right where you are. If you fret about lost time and delayed work you will miss out on where you are at right now.
Sure, you need to get back on that road. I need to as well. I have a lot of writing to do before I am even ready to tackle a project in my comfortable writing voice. The car is fixed, the trunk is packed, and all your travel arrangements have been updated.
There is a long road ahead. Sure, you have lost a lot of time. there is a lot of getting back into it ahead.
But in a way, you haven’t lost any time at all.
It is all in the way you look at things.
There is both where you have been, and the long road ahead to write about.
So…let's get on that road and just write.
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