How has time passed as quickly as it has? Yesterday I celebrated my 2nd wedding anniversary with my darling hubby and this Sunday marks one year of living in Texas. And it has been 4+ months since I have written on my blog.
I stopped writing to write. Does that makes sense? It shouldn’t. But that’s what I did. Months back I had mentioned something in the works that I was moving towards but was not ready to share in the blogging world. That beam of light was that I had made plans to write a book. I have always been a writer. I have been keeping journals since I was seven years old. I have a box filled with notebooks of poetry and journals covered in kittens and flowers with my signature scrawled across the pages over and over. This Christmas my husband topped the charts with the most thoughtful present ever. I mentioned it in my holiday post. The emotions that I had swirling around those books were that of confirmation. Confirmation that I am passionate about books, I am passionate about writing, and that I love children’s literature. I decided on Christmas day that I was going to write a children’s novel. I was giddy. I couldn’t sleep. I was carrying a notebook around with me, writing down ideas and bits of inspiration in the things I saw around me.
I was also scared to tell people. I felt foolish. I felt like an eight year old girl saying “I want to be a writer when I grow up.” And the other half of me was the jaded, critical, adult thinking, “That’s nice dear, but it won’t pay the bills, and not many people grow up to be writers.” I slowly began to share my dream with a few trusted people in my life and they spoke nothing but encouragement to me. Especially my husband.
Weeks passed, and those weeks turned into months. I had finally gotten past the fear and began to write. That story soon came to halt when I discovered that a very similar book had already been published. I felt defeated. After months of clinging to the words of others writers for encouragement that what I was doing difficult, but honorable work, I was back to a blank page. One of my favorite things to do remains to be walking through the journal section at book stores and running my hands over all the empty pages imagining the things I could fill them with. But this time the sight of a blank page filled me with fear and doubt. During this time I stopped blogging because I thought that it was taking time away from the story I should have been writing. When in reality I had just become paralyzed by my fear of failure, and then that failure was staring me in the face. I retreated and convinced myself that I was just saving up my creative energy until God hit me on the head with a new-found inspiration.
I do not need to have a book published to write. I have been a writer since age 5 and will be until the day I die. I know that I am going to write, it’s just unclear what that will look like. So today I will continue to write the story of my life because that is the only one I know.