I fear writing is akin to juicing. After the last sweet drop is wrung out, the once plump fruit of ideas becomes a messy pulp. I mean, you can only wring so much until you’re juiced out, right? I definitely thought so. In fact, along with my inner critic, I let this fear stop me from writing anything down. No writing meant a steady supply of ideas always remained at the ready. Yep, I somehow thought dam = free-flowing river of words.
The last few years have taught me a couple things, though. Unlike beavers, I’m awful at damming. At some point, I’m compelled to write, because – though I tried not to – lines, sentences, phrases, and ideas just kept nagging and nagging until I realized them into words. Besides, keeping away from pen and paper started feeling like a loss.
And you know what? In giving in to the urge, I happily discovered that writing is a prolific re-gifter. Starting new projects became easier with each successive completion! … Ok, well, this may be a bit of a lie. There are still days when I want to tear my hair out, panicking at the thought that I’ve completely sapped myself out of stories and poems. But, blogging helps, as does being nosy. Loud conversations overheard in the streetcar, little scenes played out on the skybridge on the way to lunch. These definitely bolster the coffers nicely.
So, maybe writing really IS like juicing, and writers are smack in the middle of a green grocer’s fruit section, a.k.a. life. I (we) just need to look around and start picking up all the succulent tidbits thrown to the wayside. And I should probably duct tape my inner critic shut as I do this.
Written for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group – April 2014
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