When I graduated from college, it felt like everything in the world had aligned to be perfect: I had Danny, I had a degree, and I had a drive to write. Writing has been my passion since I was 12 years old. I've filled up notebooks, written stories, collected poems. In college, I excelled (or I feel like I excelled...) in workshops. I loved reading other people's writing and helping them improve it. I loved keeping notebooks and reading and critiquing. I loved evenings in the library, wandering through the stacks to find encyclopedias, references books, anthologies. I loved every part of writing and college and I was sure that my life in the working world would fall perfectly into place the way my life in college did.
Things didn't turn out quite that way. As time passed, I adjusted, I made do, I made myself work harder and better. As a result, many things I was passionate about fell to the side. Including, at times, this blog. It's hard to focus on outfits and baking and taking great pictures when you have to work from 8-5 at a completely unrelated job to pay your bills.
Another unfortunate result of adjusting my life to accept what I had -- not necessarily what I wanted -- was I stopped writing creatively. I still wrote on this blog, but ultimately, this blog is completely different from my creative writing. This blog taps into a different part of my writing persona. I stopped keeping a journal. I stopped writing poems and reading books and taking notes. I stopped making lists of things I noticed. I stopped writing down details. I felt too busy for it. Part of me wondered if my love of writing had been frivolous, if all those writing workshops had been useless because, really, who really succeeds as a writer?
The past few months I have tried my hardest to snap back into writing, to make time for it and to rediscover my passion for it. Writing is back to being hard. I find myself rereading the creative writing books from my college life and remembering things I'd forgotten. It's hard to reteach myself the things I thought were ingrained in me forever.
I've been writing in a journal again since June. In September, I tried to write 30 poems in 30 days -- I wrote 19, which is still a huge amount. Since August, I have been doing freelance writing on the side of my day job. I have thought about this blog a lot. I have thought about the small gifts life has given me to make me a better writer: a hilarious husband; a job where I meet incredible people; a beautiful place to live. I have thought about how I have all the passion, drive, and tools to be a writer... it's just a matter of making time for it, of doing it.
In November, I will be doing NaNoWriMo for the second time. I attempted last year and the year before, but I didn't get farther than the first week. In 2010, I wrote a novel. This year, I hope to do the same. This is my first big step into writing a considerable amount everyday again. In college, writing over 1,000 words a day was child's play, really! I'm ready to be back. I'm ready to really consider myself a writer again.