A lot has happened since my last post here. A lot is still going on. Those that follow this blog may have noticed that there’s been no twitter rants either. I took a long break from twitter. And from Facebook. And from writing.
To be honest, I gave up writing for a while. I would write some ideas and sketch some other things here and there but these past few years I just haven’t had the heart of energy to write.
How do you write when so much is happening around you? Even the most quiet moments of my days felt so loud due to the fear that everything in life is built on a foundation of shifting sand. It isn’t so much the end I fear; if things ended that would honestly be a relief. Like a drawn out horror flick. End, cut, that’s a wrap. However, the suspense of modern life doesn’t end until death. And there is no relief in death. There’s nothing. No pain but also no relief. The complete lack of stimuli, positive or negative.
So how do you write when you are overwhelmed by responsibilities and life with all of its hectic anxious energy?
Some will tell you it is all about prioritizing your time; time management is key. Just get your ass in the chair and write.
But that is patronizing bullshit at best and a weird way of making a living through affiliate marketing at worst. No amount of bullet journals, therapy, time management software, or even a shock collar will get a human to write while their world is burning down and rebuilding and burning and rebuilding.
No. It all boils down to one thing: Is your desire to write greater than all other desires? Is it a constant nagging hunger that you somehow return to even when your world is plunged into chaos?
If yes, you are now cursed to be a writer. You will find yourself scribbling words down onto used tissue paper, on walls, on your skin. It is unavoidable.
I should clarify, then, what I mean when I say I gave up writing.
I gave up finishing pieces, editing them, polishing them. I gave up the hard work that comes with writing — the killing your darlings, the hustle of submitting, the seemingly endless arrays of making a living while not living.
I gave up on pursuing the business of writing.
Then, why am I back to posting on an old blog with barely enough followers to make a dent in the algorithmic landscape of Google and Web 2.0?
Because I began this blog for amateurs, for moms, for dads, for transgendered parents, for agender parents, for their kids, for that one kid whose hands are stained with ink, for those who can’t stop writing even when the eviction notices pile up, for those whose stories are so loud that a global pandemic, social unrest, the possible collapse of the US dollar, and countless endless wars doesn’t stop their hands from typing to the rhythm of song only they can hear.
I am back because of you dear readers. Because somehow there are still people checking in on this site.
I hope you will enjoy my unedited ramblings and flagrant disregard of English grammar.