”Good writers are monotonous, like good composers. They keep trying to perfect the one problem they were born to understand.”
Sometimes I feel like I write the same things over and over. And then I feel a strange sense of remorse about it. It’s as though there is an ever-elusive idea just waiting for me to capture it with my words, but it always ends up more like trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net.
My identity as a writer is not yet defined. I do not have a niche, a genre. The very compulsive side of my personality wishes someone would just assign me one. Give me a subject, let me write on that, only that. But then the philosophical side of my personality would be crushed. There is no inspiration in only writing “assignments”. Which is probably why I gave up on that 30 day writing challenge.
Writing, for me, is a world that I wish to have without constraints or restrictions. As long as I work full time for a public company, however, that is not possible. I always have to be cautious of what I write and how I present it. And I guess that’s where I’m struggling at the moment.
I’ve discovered this side of myself that I wish to explore and make known to others, but I can’t always be as free with it as I want to be.
Working somewhere else isn’t the only reason. I could write about many things but am restricted by the real life relationships that they involve. Sharing experiences of your life that don’t just involve your life is an infringement on the privacy of others. And I don’t do that.
So I find myself at a bit of a crossroads. Where to go next with this aspect of my life. Do I just keep writing here, censored, always pulled back a little? Do I only write privately? What is the solution when you want to be true to yourself but generally find yourself compromising artistic integrity with paying your bills?
Well, if I ever find out, I’ll let you know. I will say, in the meantime, that this is a sort of personal hell.
I have problems with restrictions. I don’t like being told what to do or not do. I have a REAL problem with it. I missed therapy this week so maybe we can work on that next time I go.
So while I’m at this crossroads, I might start sounding like a broken record. I think I’m trying to find my voice but right now, I’m having to use one that isn’t entirely my own.
But I do thank you for reading. For your feedback, your shares. Writing for an audience of one is incredibly depressing because art, in any medium, is meant to be shared. Thank you for letting me share mine with you.