Writers are best at putting off writing. Everything else beckons me away from writing. I can guilt myself into feeling so bad for not writing that I don’t write. I can blame procrastination, if I say, “if I beat this level of Candy Crush, then I’ll start writing.” Sometimes I am quite possibly too old or too young, not experienced or hyper-experienced, no teenage angst and too much middle-aged drama. Responsibly, I sit here now, just as I spent the day sitting at a computer in a cold cubicle all day, and wonder if I want to put any more energy into another keyboard. I am here contemplating a few words and wondering if anything is really worth saying at all.
Still, I call myself a writer. Whether I am putting it off or making excuses, I still name my occupation, my soul, my heart, my name is writer. I have to get over the fact that I may not be any good at writing, that my grammatical awareness is stunted and that my creativity may truly be lacking.
Writing calls to me. It whispers as I watch people going about their business, strangers at tables in restaurants talking. Who are those people and what are their stories? As if intuition gives me a peek into their lives; the brief encounter of seeing them across the restaurant means something to this writer’s mind.
My great-grandmother, Catharine, was a writer. I have just recently started digging through her notes and scribblings. Pages of poems are mixed with biblical children’s stories are mixed with a multitude of genealogy excerpts and stories. Pages and pages of hand-written work provide some insight into who I am and who she was. Writers must write in spite of all of the excuses that they may have. Like Catharine, I am digging in the past to find some relevance into the future. This is my path to my own writer’s writings.
findingbeccafaith 