Guess I’m back to Journal Entries.
July 6th, 2011.
After reading entries from ‘07-‘10 on the old myspace account I feel obligated to write. Probably based more on the shameful content. Back then I was very proud of my work. Maybe because I found a medium where I could openly express myself. Lets be honest, a lot of my writing was shit. Explosive rants of a depressed teenager, but an outlet nonetheless. Even then there were exceptions, I guess. Some poems and a few ‘chapters’ of failed short stories showed an obvious creative ability. Things have changed though. I have changed.
I still—and probably always will—have a desire to write. My path isn’t as clear now as I had naively believed back then. There is a lot of doubt on my part as to if this is really my…calling? When people ask what I would like to write about, I honestly shoot blanks from a toy gun at my cerebellum. In the creative writing section, novels are definitely out of the question. Short stories would be a possibility if I wasn’t so scatter-brained. My previous attempts almost always intertwined with my day-to-day life. The diary-style thoughts would seep into the paragraphs. This coincides seamlessly with my poetry as an emotional outlet. As far as writing professionally there’s a smoldering fear that seems to gain flame that I may not be able to write subjectively.
Oh, Lord, and don’t forget the sub-conscious side. Near constant writer’s block spawned from anxieties. “Will I fulfill expectations? Do I really know what I’m writing about? Can I even write intelligently on the matter?” The worst part of spilling the beans on these doubts… I have no fall back. Writing has always been such an important part of my life that I never considered anything else. Honestly, I think I’m falling again.
