I sometimes wonder if my best writing days are behind me.
Last night I gave a friend something I wrote 3 years ago. It was, basically, a manual on how to cope after divorce. I wrote it as an open letter to a friend who, at the time was going through her own divorce. I wrote down all the best advice I’d been given, and more importantly, all the best advice I *wasn’t* given. I wrote down the honest stuff, the hard stuff. The things that you don’t know, and can’t know until you’ve been there.
I read back on that, and many other things from that time period in my life and I see a lot of things. I see an unhappy person, who was writing to get through the pain of her life and all the scary things happening.
Fast forward 4 years and that person is no longer unhappy. Sure, I have bad days, days I struggle and want to cry. I chalk most of those up to hormones and lack of sleep. However, I have created a new life that is pretty damn awesome. I have wonderful people in my life. I have pushed myself far out of my comfort zone, and with few exceptions have been glad that I did. I’ve taken a few huge leaps of faith and while I’m still waiting to see how some of them turn out, a couple have paid off pretty well. My daughter is my light and joy and watching her grow into the amazing little person she is fills me with happiness every single day.
But all that happiness doesn’t lend itself too well to writing. Some of the best writing ever done by the greats (and I am certainly not among them) was borne of anguish, pain and suffering. It is easier to pour forth words when you’re hurting. Writing for me was cathartic. It helped me process what I was feeling and put it into perspective.
But who wants to read about how I wake up with a smile on my face every morning now? Who wants to hear that sometimes I giggle like a 16 year old at my desk? And they aren’t handing out Pulitzers to any mommy blogger on the planet, no matter how special/super/awesome/first kid ever to do anything they think their child is.
Drama lends itself well to good writing. So does humor, to be sure. However, even I don’t think I’m funny enough to write a humor blog. So what’s left? Fashion? Umm..have you seen me? It’s t-shirts and blue jeans on any given day I’m not at work. Money? Yeah, you need to have some of that to write about it. Sports? I love my baseball and football but after 12 years of not paying attention, I’m basically learning the fields, as it were, all over again. Love? That’s a subject best left between the two people in it. The internet is forever, people. Food? I actually was a food blogger for a while. Pardon the pun, but the experience left me with a bad taste in my mouth.
In short, or not so short, as I’m at 525 words already, I don’t know what the hell to write about.
Doesn’t seem to be stopping me however, so merrily I plod along. Thanks for keeping me company on the journey.