Earlier today, I began writing a blog about books I’d read over the last month or so. None of the words reflected what I felt about those books nor justified the time the authors spent writing them. I put it down to a bad writing day. Then, a few minutes ago I realised I’d been writing about the wrong thing. It felt forced, unauthentic and poorly constructed.
The lesson I’ve learnt is, forcing words onto a page doesn’t mean you’ll be able to edit the life back into them later.
Instead, let’s write about what matters to us. We made it to April. That’s worthy of a cheer. If you live in the same world as me, you may have noticed it’s not always happy. Neither is it always sad. The first quarter of 2019 has thrown me into every emotion possible. There were moments when I wished the world would go away, others where I kissed, loved, hugged and embraced the fantastic friends I have.
Throughout these turbulent times, I’ve kept writing. Putting pen to paper, fingers to my keyboard or trying to make the speech to text work via Siri on my iPhone has become a life-line. It’s the first occasion I’ve realised how central writing and the creative process is to my well-being. Writing itself has become one of my amazing friends.
I’ve hit my targets. There’s a new book coming out in June. A new set of characters fighting for space in my head. The monthly poem has been just that, and there may well be more poetry popping up.
It’s been the nearly best of times and the almost worst of times. It’s been life.