I thought I wanted to be a writer

“The practice of art isn’t to make a living. It’s to make your soul grow.”

—Author Kurt Vonnegut

When I was younger I used to imagine myself as an artist, writing all day or night, unaware of time or hunger, immersed in my craft. I pictured myself wandering the streets of wherever I lived, or meandering about my (huge) house, deep in thoughts about my latest novel, stopping suddenly when inspiration hit, running to my typewriter and furiously putting into words my latest epiphany. (This was one of my many fantasies about my adult life, which I wrote about in my post titled 9 lives).

I pictured myself a crazy artist, for lack of better terms. I didn’t see myself with a family for some reason, although it was possible, as I think one of the parents in Bridge To Terabithia is a writer who is somewhat absent, as I recall, since they are always in their office writing, which then leaves their child to make a friend in the neighbor, and imaginative play ensues. I digress.

I have wanted to be a writer ever since I learned how to create stories and poems, which was around 3rd grade. We had a little school publication that came out when I was in 3rd grade, and I had a poem featured in it. I wrote poems, songs, stories—I even started my own newspaper, and interviewed fake people or family members and wrote articles about it. I DJ’d tapes to myself. Then I wrote a “book” in 4th grade, heavily based off the movie Nightmare on Elm Street. (I tried to find this to take a pic, but with moving I have no idea were most of my stuff is!) As a young child, I loved to be creative.

In middle school and high school I wrote tons of ridiculously sappy love poems about my boyfriends, and a few short stories that are probably classified mystery. I wrote essays in college, published more poems and a short story throughout the years, and kept starting (but rarely finishing) short stories in all types of genres. I took classes at The Loft in Minneapolis, and ended up eventually getting an English degree from The College of St. Scholastica.

It was also my second round of college, when I was about 30, when I got involved in “technical” writing, as it was more known for back then. It’s evolved of course into content writing, copywriting, etc., with niche writing being the ticket these days. Basically, using our writing skills to craft non-fiction in order to make money. It’s easier to get a paycheck writing for a company than to get a book sale. And it worked as a part-time gig, off and on, for many years.

Then as I grew my family and focused more on being a mom, and then my “real” job of being a teacher, the writing became less and less. And then this past year a terrifying thought hit me….

“What if I don’t want to be a writer?”

“What??? Where does that even come from?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m better off focusing on teaching, since it’s steady and reliable. Plus it’s so much work these days to write. It’s not only about the writing, but about the marketing, and selling yourself, and ugh….social media! Such a time sucker. The whole writing world has just changed so much since the days when I dreamed it. I’m too old to keep up.”

“You’re being crazy. You’re having a mid-life crisis. Stop.”

Then I blew up my life, as mentioned in the Guess Who’s Back? post I did. And I didn’t have time to consider it anymore as I was in survival mode. In April, when I started casually applying for online writing jobs, I figured I talked myself out of my insanity.

May came and I got more serious about getting a job, noticing that I’m competing with over 100 other applicants on Indeed and LinkedIn, but I went forward with confidence in my years of experience. Fake it until you make it, right? I put myself out there, knowing I might not know how to do everything they were asking, but I am a damn good writer and I can learn, right?

By June, after getting one response, (who ultimately went with someone else), and reading about how difficult the market is for writers right now, I gave up. And I started thinking again….maybe I don’t want to be a writer? It was starting to feel exhausting. So much work and rejection for something I wasn’t even that passionate about.

What???? Not passionate about writing? What has happened to you???

And it hit me. What had happened was all the creativity had been sucked out of me. I felt I wasn’t really sure I knew how to write fiction anymore. Then I told myself that was ridiculous, and it’s like riding a bicycle. I need to practice it again to feel competent at it, for it to be natural again. I also had no time for this blog, and while it hasn’t been fiction focused, I do like this type of writing. It feels like creating.

Now, through this process of coming back here, I realize it’s when I write for myself I feel like the artist I always dreamed I’d be. When I write for fun, or to process emotions, or to question life…when I’m writing whatever I want to write, I am fulfilling the creative side of me, making myself more aligned with who I want to be.

So I’ve decided I don’t want to make money writing if I’m not excited about what I’m creating.

And that is my advice to anyone reading this today: when it comes to creativity, do it for you. Have fun with it like you did when you first discovered what brought you joy. Whether it is singing, painting, drawing, designing, crafting, playing…do it how you want to do it. Forget right or wrong, it doesn’t exist when it comes to nurturing our souls.

Happy Friday, Dreamers! 😎✌️☀️