Hello, Blog. It’s me, from the Future. It’s 2016 and I am here to lift you up out of the graveyard of my writing aspirations.
I’ll spare anyone who still reads this an overly detailed recap of the last three years. Suffice it to say that C and I have moved from rural Alberta to Edmonton and life is good, overall. Big things on the horizon for us include a house and after that maybe even a wedding.
One thing that hasn’t changed since 2012, though, is my frustration with my career (or lack thereof). Since my first real office job at the Boys & Girls’ Club I’ve had three more, each more disappointing than the last. The disappointment mostly comes from the fact that I’m not doing what I want with my work life, rather than anything inherently terrible in the job itself or the workplace (not to say that those factors haven’t made an appearance, though).
I started writing more seriously in 2015 than I ever had before. I finished NaNoWriMo again, on my own, with minimal prodding from C (who was as supportive as he’s ever been, if not more), despite dealing with some seriously freaky health issues during November. I got organized and bought some binders and notebooks to store my stuff— drafts, plot notes, dialogue sketches, etc.—in. I started looking for writing jobs online. I made a writing schedule that I stuck to for (some of) the year.
Still, I want more. I know I’m still new in the game and young (so young, and yet feeling so old), but I can’t wait around forever until the ‘right’ time to write. The write time. Puns are easy (especially bad ones), but finding a job in the creative field is hard. I don’t feel like a writer, even though I write a lot for fun and occasionally even to show people, and I post stuff online, and I periodically hear from people who’ve read tidbits I’ve written that I’m good at it. I don’t believe them, but I want to.
All this brings me to this blog revival: I need a place to write, not necessarily about writing but just to exercise. Something low-risk and fun, unlike novel writing, which regularly makes me want to tear out my own eyeballs in frustration, or posting to social media, which doesn’t exactly require any deep thought about content or style.
This is a resolution-post that I’m making to myself. If I want to be a writer, I have to write. Here’s step one.
reneewrought.com 