Artistically speaking, of course.
With such dramatics I don't think I have to say that I haven't been writing, haven't been igniting any of the imaginative sparks that have been crackling about in my brain, nothing. I've been reading--a lot-- in hopes that others' writing will bring me back as it did before, I've been watching a lot of YouTube, wondering how talking about the effectiveness of a concealer has brought a lucky few to stardom, and generally lying in bed wondering what the fuck the point of four years of soul-sucking was if I've come out of it bewildered and somewhat bitter?
Well, a few months later, something's caught. There's an itch in my fingers again, to put to my computer what has been rattling about up there. I can't really pinpoint what it has been: perhaps the general lack of purpose that I've felt with my new job, which is really lovely despite being not quite rewarding artistically; perhaps it is the realization that my fellow writing peers are becoming successful because they're actually doing shit with their passions (what a revolutionary thought!); or perhaps my obsessive reading has sometime propelled me into my old need to write and contribute to other's words.
The third option would be the most romantic answer, wouldn't it?
And really, I have no expectations. My writing may never see the light of day. I'll blog on here, rambling about life and material possessions such as makeup and candles, but I'll also write more private things. It doesn't matter whether anyone else will read it, it just matters that for a moment I gathered up all of my thoughts and feelings and defined them on a page.
That's what it's all about...right?
No comments:
Post a Comment