writer's life

I’ve been reading Vinita Hampton Wright’s The Soul Tells a Story for the past few days. Reading this book is seriously like therapy. It’s helped me recognize and channel so many things I feel confused about as an artist.

I’ve been growing so much in the past couple years and honing in on what makes my gift hum. Growing up I focused in so much on writing and consuming books and poetry that I think sometimes I forgot to be a kid. I was always so focused on things that often times I preferred the solitude of my own mind to the social circles around me. I am still very much this way and I forget that not everyone around me understands my need for seasons of quiet.

Much of my truly inspired writing comes from pain, or grief, something that stirs up an emotion I may not be ready to deal with yet. And when I have no conscious way of processing what I am going through, I write. And to write, I need solitude.

As I get older and grow outside of myself I am learning how to listen to what my soul is telling me. And as much as people around me love me, I know the way my mind and my heart work are not always easy for them to understand. So this brings me to my point…I’m lonely. Now let me say, I have a wonderful family, a genuinely amazing boyfriend, and ever-supportive friends. But there’s no community. No like-minded writers to remind me that publisher rejections are normal, that the erratic emotions I feel are part of the writer’s life and connecting with my characters or even my readers. That I’m normal. I’ve spent so long in solitude that I don’t think I realized how much I needed other people in this area of my life.

Granted, this is not to say I am some depressed being thinking I am alone in the world. Every area of my life is filled with support, be it from friends or family. But this part of me, the part of me that spurs my existence, my purpose, longs for people to share my gift with.

Seasons of life come and go. Sometimes on repeat, and I am okay with that, because I know that the Muse will come and go as she pleases. And I know to take advantage of the seasons when I don’t feel like I write enough. But now I realize that the seasons when I have had enough are important too. I have to listen to my heart, my soul, know that it’s okay to rest.

I’m not sure what’s next. I know there is a community waiting for me somewhere and it will come when it’s meant to. And I am that much better for having shared this with all of you, like a load has been lifted off my shoulders. For now I wait, and I write.

Blessings to you all.

MO.