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I've spent a good part of the last couple of days trying to write. To get my creative juices flowing again. And I keep coming up short.I have beautiful ideas of allegorical posts in my head. Processing through the things that I'm thinking about and dealing with through story. And yet, when I try to put pen to paper, I come up short. I look at the words and think, "This is awful. No one will understand this. Why do I even think I'm a good writer?"
Sometimes I feel like a one hit wonder. I write things like (untitled). that receive a wonderful response. It's moments like that that I feel confident about my ability as a writer. I think, "Yes. I can do this. I can be a writer. I can write a book. I can get it published. I can do what I really love to do for a living."
And then there's days like today.
I've been thinking a lot about baggage recently, about my baggage, but also how baggage affects us as people. How it changes the way that we think and feel and interact. But I didn't want to just write a post about all of my baggage and let that be it. Because, I'll be honest, though many of my posts are very open, honest, and raw, this blog is not about airing my dirty laundry or saying, "I've been through this hard things and they changed the way I do things and my life is so sad because of it, please pity me." That's not what this blog was supposed to be about or ever will be about.
But I still wanted to write about it. I still wanted to process through it. And I imagined this world, with people walking up and down the street, holding their baggage as actual bags. Like an alternate reality where baggage visibly affects people.
And yet, it's not coming out how I want it. In my head, it's a beautiful allegory of how challenging baggage can be, both to deal with as a constant presence in our lives but also how difficult it is to overcome.
Perhaps I shall sit down later, and the words shall flow beautifully and splendidly onto the page. Perhaps they shall come as easily into reality as they exist in my head and this world that I can see so clearly will come to life for you, my dear readers.
But for now, I simply sit frustrated that I'm coming up short.
Do you ever feel like you're coming up short when writing about something? What are ways you combat it and get the creative juices flowing again?
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