Sometimes we forget to just write.
Sometimes the pressures to perfectly perform bog down our creative spirit in muck and mold, stifling its voice.
Sometimes we need to simply sit in our writing space and listen. Listen to the music. Listen to the voices of our characters still waiting for their chance to sing. Listen to the battles and groans, the laughter and joy, the agony and sobs of defeat.
Sometimes it’s good to think back on the exhilaration and wonder – the thrill we experience when we write ANYTHING.
This weekend I finally took to the somewhat daunting task of setting up my writer’s office upstairs. The husband and I put together my desk, thwapped down the chair mat, and then he helped me carry in my monitor and printer while I setup my laptop (I stopped using a desktop a couple years ago – again – because a laptop allows me the freedom of unfettering myself from my desk and going elsewhere to write).
I setup my speakers, my keyboard and mouse, and then simply stood there, in my space, and soaked it all in. Made certain everything was where I wanted it to be. Was it comfortable? Was anything a distraction?
No. It was perfect.
Today I began putting up posters to alleviate the starkness of these walls. One is a quote “writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.” It still brings a smile. The other is a ‘NaNoland’ poster from 2010.
Across from my desk is a watercolor of Zell and Sally from Bookworms and Booya given to me by a dear friend, Rin Jay. If you have read my paranormal fantasy, To Save A Soul, or my inspirational romance, Searching for Sara, you have seen her illustrations already.
I still need to unpack a few more boxes, but the room is finally beginning to feel… workable. Livable? Comfortable. Warm. A place where I can listen to my music and re-immerse myself into the lives of these characters I love (and some I love to hate). I get to remember why I love writing.
And you know what? The thought makes me cry. Why? Because I have missed the comfort and the urge to write. To throw everyone’s expectations to the bin and write from my heart and soul. I didn’t realize how much of an… obligation it had become until this moment.
An obligation to get these stories complete so I could move onto the next project. To clear titles from my to-do list like a bunch of groceries or tasks. Writing should never become a task. When it does, the wonder and emotional draw of it begins to fade.
I want to get up in the morning thinking about the story I’m working on. I want to go to bed in the evening thinking about the character I’m leading from one struggle to the next.
I want to WANT to write. It shouldn’t be an expectation simply because I have things left to do. I am a writer. Let me write.