When I set this blog up it was with best intentions and during a particularly fruitful creative spell that I found myself on. Sadly, like most of these in my adult life, it was temporary and the semi-frequent drought of writers block and a creative void saw me open many a new text post, only to close it after staring blankly at it for far too long.
Trying to address where this comes from is harder. It’s hardly a unique issue and I don’t think I’m special, every creative mind has this sometimes, if not often. I find it frustrating and demoralising though. In my job, there’s not a lot of room to express myself and show off my strengths, so blogging is way of me retaining the part of me who always had something to type, or doodle. I miss that me and I struggle to understand what’s changed.
Some of the reasons are obvious. I’ve spent large portions of the past few weeks on a self imposed exile from the internet. I’m a UK resident and there have been testing times for our country amidst one of the most vile elections the country has had. Much of it has left me feeling sad, detached and unable to connect with so many people. Often there’s been nothing that I’ve felt worthy of adding to the bubble of noise. Particularly on Twitter. What happened in Manchester, London and what continues to happen, unnoticed by the media here, every day elsewhere is just devastating. Enough to make you lose faith in the human race.
I fear I’ve become more and more cynical as my twenties have flashed past and as thirty approaches, I’m worried that I trust so few people now. Of course all incidents have also highlighted the good in people, how unselfish and caring we can be. Sadly, it’s easy to forget that amongst those spouting hate, as so often they manage to drown out the heaps of kind words.
Couple that with the constant feeling that I’m simply treading water or trying to keep all the plates in play spinning and I perhaps need to cut myself some slack. Finding time, and mental concentration, to write something in the meagre hours I get to myself isn’t easy. I wake at 6am to leave the house at 7 and rarely get home before 7pm. By the time food has been eaten, chores completed and precious time spent with my boyfriend, there’s roughly an hour or so until I need to consider sleeping. Not exactly ideal. In that time I’m often trying to get a workout in, or watch an episode of something. I’m usually tired and/or frustrated and when I sit down to try to produce something, only rubbish, if anything, comes out.
I wanted to make a concerted effort in 2017 to do more things that make me happy. Writing being a key one of those. I still have time to turn that around in this second half of the year. I’m planning to try and expand what I cover on here, to make it easier for myself, and also to ease me back into it. So I might look at the different events I get to go to, or finally commit to a post about all my tattoos. There’ll no doubt be more film or tv related ramblings, and the one thing I have kept up with is my monthly reading reviews, which I really enjoy. Given how grim the world can be, it’s no surprise that I find myself reaching for another book, or watching a new show or film. They’re things to bury yourself in when nothing else makes sense. An escape, a relief. Previously, that’s what writing always was too. I need to get back to that place. There was a time when I would come up with daily photographs for my Flickr feed as well as maintaining two blogs. Time may be a bigger constraint now, but I plan to try and reignite that spark of creativity that used to motivate me so much.