Writer's Block

I'm doing something I didn't think I'd do again.

I'm writing fiction. For fun.

A few weeks ago I was washing dishes and listening to a story on All Things Considered about how adults don't draw for fun, but they should. I thought about how I still sometimes draw for fun, and didn't think the story was really relatable, and pitied the poor inhibited bastitches. Then I thought of things I'd given up when I realized I wouldn't make money at it: playing piano, photography, writing. I used to write all the time, and not just the horrible poems I posted. Mostly short stories, but I also had ideas for novels, and I scribbled out a very, very rough draft for one of them my senior year. Two of my high school teachers encouraged me to pursue an English or Writing Degree, but I never did, though I published a short story in a college literary magazine. The last time I actively wrote was the summer after my freshman year of college. I even had a few sleepovers with Velocibadgergirl where we holed up in my room with the stereo playing and a candle* burning, writing our hearts out. I was such a dork. And I loved it.

Then I just...stopped. I composed a few poems sophomore year of college, but the spark was out. I felt uninspired for the first time since I was literate. As soon as I learned to write, I authored a book. In the first grade I scrawled a really long story about journeying to a kingdom made of diamonds and my ensuing adventures. There were unicorns, I remember. I threw it out in the fifth grade, and I wish I still had it because I'm sure I'd laugh my ass off if I reread it. I wrote and illustrated my second book in the third grade, which I still have somewhere. It features a dragon. I'm pretty sure there's a unicorn mentioned, but I'm not certain.

So, I'm writing. No, you cannot see it. At least, not unless 1) it's done and 2) you're one of my best friends and 3) you promise to not hurt my feelings when I ask you how you liked it. I'm open to a writing-themed slumber party, though. I'll even supply the pillows and cookies.


*When I burned a certain purple candle, I wrote better. I saved it, just to remember how much fun I used to have.