Writing Journey

About 7 years ago, I moved to Oklahoma City. It wasn’t the first big city I lived in but it was the first one I lived in without a roommate.

I had a tiny apartment, around 450 square feet on the third floor of a gated apartment complex. At night it was filled with city noise. Ambulances going by, neighbors screaming at each other, the flashing of blue and red lights when the cops showed up. It was disconcerting for a girl who grew up in the quiet of the country.

In the midst of all that, I felt more alone than I had growing up in the middle of nowhere. I hated it but my rule was that I’d give each place I lived in a good try before I gave it up completely.

Back then you still had to have cable if you wanted internet. I didn’t have much money so I picked the smallest cable package which was about 5 channels and the cheapest internet I could get. I think I paid maybe $30 a month all together. Three of the channels were local and the other two were news outlets that bored me to tears.

Not much entertainment in those or much distraction. Luckily I had Netflix.

That’s when my TV addiction began.

Binge watching shows was an escape for me. It eased the loneliness a bit. I would get lost in the lives and worlds of the characters. In a way they became my friends, my roommates.

Lately I’ve begun to realize that this is a major problem where my writing is concerned.

Maybe some people can write with the TV on but not me. I’m drawn to it and before I know it, I’m sucked into the story line.

The problem with turning the damn thing off is that I realize how quiet the house is and that I’m the only one in it. I’m alone and scared.

But why is it scary? I’ve been alone most of my adult life. Then I realized that’s not entirely true. There’s always been a book in my hands or a TV show on, something to distract me. I’ve never truly embraced being by myself.

I think I was afraid of what I might find if left alone to think. We avoid things for a reason so, on some subconscious level, I must be hiding from something? But what?

On top of that, it’s not just avoiding my thoughts, it’s avoiding my writing. These posts don’t scare me much anymore. I know one way or another they’ll work out. Sure, not every article is a big success. I don’t even know how many people actually read them. But they come from the heart, they’re true, and I do my best. That’s really all you can ask for.

The same cannot be said of my creative writing endeavors. I have yet to actually have a story work out. My ideas now are different than they used to be. They have a point to them and a meaning behind them. They have their own sort of truth. But I’m still scared to try because they may not work. Then I’ll have to start over and be even further behind.

Maybe they aren’t working out because I don’t give them the chance to. I’m too scared to try.

So how do I get over the fear?

I’ve written a post on this topic before but no one has ever read it. I decided not to publish it because I didn’t have any answers.

I still don’t. But my challenge and my goal is to figure that out. So this week, instead of watching TV when I get home, I’m going to write. I’m going to sit here in the silence for as long as it takes and I’m going to write.

Consider it an experiment on myself. Next week, you’ll get to enjoy reading about the results, good or bad.

Starting over is hard. It happens fast, as change usually does. You wake up one morning and your entire life looks different from yesterday. Your future is one big ol’ blank space. You’re fine with it in the beginning. It’s exciting. A blank page you can write on, a new chapter to read.

So you dry your tears and embark on what you hope is brand new adventure. But reality butts in. The numbers in your bank account begin to dwindle. Your parents become worried your temporary stay might become permanent. Decisions have to be made. I’ve never been good at those, obviously, or this post wouldn’t be backed by my vast experience in new beginnings.

I found a job, one that I would never have applied for in less desperate times. I found a beautiful rent house. The only catch is it’s on the market so occasionally I have to put up with perfect strangers meandering through my home, touching my stuff.

At first it seemed like a miracle. I found a house and job within less than a month. Not bad, right?

But then I got my first pay check and it fell far short of the mark. Then I got my first bills on this big ass rent house and, having always lived in tiny rent houses or apartments, I didn’t realize how much it costs to heat almost 1,700 square feet.

Aside from hating my job and being poor, I began feeling isolated. Just because you start over doesn’t mean everyone else around you does. They carry on with their routines and friendships and appointments. And you stay by yourself, poor, alone, and confused.

The truth is this is a necessary part of change. There’s a great loss, a bunch of holes left by whatever you’ve let go of and you have to figure out how to fill them. In the mean time, you have to mourn your losses, let them go.

This is the scary part, the part that makes writing difficult but will improve it if you let it.

A lot of what I do is just a distraction from real life. I read books and watch TV and peruse Pinterest in an effort to distract myself. I’m afraid to sit down and write because I’m afraid of what might come out. What demons will emerge in the words? What will I have to face that I’ve been avoiding?

All writing is a piece of who we are. Even these blog posts are a part of me.

I’ve always read that to be a good writer you should be vulnerable, bare your soul. I never fully understood what that meant until now. I don’t think it’s a lesson that can be taught, rather one that must be learned.

That was the problem with my writing before. It had too many secrets, concealed too many things. But great writing and more importantly great stories are open and honest. They reveal who we are. There are no secrets between a story and a reader which means there are no secrets between a writer and her readers.

That’s a terrifying thought. But 3 months ago I never would have shared the fact that I feel lonely or afraid with you. I would’ve made jokes or swept it all under a bit of sarcasm. It might have been funny but it would also have been fake and a lie and I’m guessing you would’ve seen right through it.

Have you ever read a story that touched you deeply and changed you irrevocably? It was written by an author that was open and honest.

Have you ever a read a story that was good but didn’t stick with you? It was written by an author that’s hiding. That’s keeping things from you in order to protect herself.

That is the difference. That’s what starting over has taught me. Had I been open and honest with myself before, I wouldn’t be starting over right now.

I have to be open in my writing. I have to allow myself to bleed onto the pages, to share my pain and regret and joy and anger and suffering with the world no matter how much it scares me.

There is no other way to write. There is no better way to write.

But how do you do this?

You write and keep writing until the truth comes out. You write especially when you are afraid. I recommend you write about what you’re feeling. But you have to be honest about it. If you’re sad, write about being sad. If you’re feeling jealous write about what’s making you jealous.

Our tendency is to ignore or hide the things we consider ugly or that we’ve been taught are wrong. You shouldn’t feel jealous of others. It’s bad. It makes you bad. No, it doesn’t. It’s bad if you act on it but it’s not bad to feel it. It’s important to understand the difference and realize that feelings are okay. Feelings don’t make us good or bad, they make us human. It’s how we react to or act upon them that determine our level of morality.

We all feel things like jealousy, anger, resentment, bitterness, and regret. Every single one of us. The difference between people who always seem happy and the people drowning in those bad feelings are that the former accept these feelings and deal with them and the latter push them away, deny them. Don’t do that.

When I’m free writing, I don’t think of it in terms of publishing. It’s private. It’s not meant to be published or read by anyone else EVER. It’s for me. It’s a safe place where I can say the things I would never dream of saying out loud. I have a special notebook just for that.

At first it was hard. I had a hard time getting the words to come out. I spent a lot of time running on about little, surface things like how tired I was or what bed I want to buy. But slowly other things began to emerge. I started writing about feeling sad. The momentum grew and before I knew it, the gates opened and it all came out. I felt better, lighter.

Then my writing began to improve. It came easier, faster. The characters seemed more real to me. The stories were deeper, more meaningful. For the first time in my life, I’ve done something I’ve been trying to accomplish for almost ten years: I’ve created characters I like and a world of my own I’m fixing to throw them into.

All because, even though I was scared, I was finally willing to write about it and be honest with myself and others.

Give it a try and, if it doesn’t work, give it another. If nothing else, it’ll improve your mood. So what have you got to lose?

It’s been a long time. I’ve been growing and learning and changing. I pretty much burned my whole world down around my ears and now I’m rebuilding from the ashes. Kinda like a phoenix though I expect not as graceful.

I ended a relationship and quit a job in a week. By that I mean I walked out of both. Then somehow I managed to find a new job and a beautiful new house that’s within blocks of my sister. And on top of that I left all my furniture with my old life so I get to redecorate the new. It sounds like an exciting prospect and it is, but it’s also an expensive one.

Yes, walking out of one life into a new one sounded like such a romantic idea to me. I’d fantasize about it while I was filing at work or doing laundry or cooking. What would happen if I just lit the match and started over? I pictured myself walking away my hair styled perfectly, a beautiful gown blowing around my legs as the wreck my life had become burned in the background.

It does kind of feel that way in the beginning. After a few days the fear slips in because what the hell did you just do? And what are you going to do next? You’re homeless, jobless, and have no idea what tomorrow looks like or the day after that. And oh my goodness you’re all alone again.

I’ve never been much of a planner. I like to plan when it’s something that I enjoy doing or I’m looking forward to. But for the most part, I don’t plan. I dream. That’s why I hate that old interview question, “Where do you see yourself 5 years from now?” I sit there blinking at my interviewer, trying to come up with a made up plan quickly. My answer is always filled with a lot of doubt and a lot of what they really want to hear: “I see myself here, moving up through the company.” The real answer is I have no idea I just hope to God I’m not still working this crappy job.

But, if I were honest in my job interviews, I’d never find one. That sounds terrible. Please don’t judge me.

I’ve learned a lot about myself in this last month or so. I’ve changed a lot. I thought I would go back to being the old me but that person was engulfed in the flames. What rose from the ashes is a new person. A person that’s terrified and yet is less willing than ever to take crap from other people. A person that’s learned a lot about writing and life. A person that feels hope for the first time in years.

I won’t go so far as to say I’m an expert but I think I’m finally beginning to see the big picture clearly. I’ve got some new ideas I’m working on which I’ll share with you as I get further into the development stage.

Right now I mostly want to share my thoughts with you and lessons I’ve learned. I need simplicity in my life more than ever and that includes this blog. No tricks or gimmicks. Just honesty. Honesty is more important than you can imagine, especially with yourself.

I know, I know, I just told you I fudge the truth a bit in job interviews. But that’s a horse of a different color. And, let’s be honest, no one wants to hire a person that flat out admits they want nothing to do with people, they don’t work well with others, and please oh please could I have a dark office no one ever visits? Oh wait, that’s why I like writing. Unfortunately I’m not making money doing that. I do it for love which, I suppose, is more beneficial in the end.

Anyway, I just wanted to say hello again and apologize for my extended absence. I’m trying to get back on my feet so I can’t guarantee any sort of regularity with confidence at the moment. But I am going to try. I hope you’ll stick with me but, if you don’t, I understand that too. No hard feelings.