So. . . it's been about seven months since my last blog post. Let me just say, a lot has happened since then, and unfortunately, things keep happening.
Though as I'm navigating the freshness of my young adult life, I'm realizing that's just how the way the world works. Problems and unforeseen circumstances will keep cropping up like weeds even after you thought you managed to pluck them all out. The real hard part is learning how to work through that, despite the challenges.
During my seven-month absence, did I learn how to work through said challenges? No. Not even close, but my tiny hope and faith that things will get better are some of the few things that are keeping me going, and I now see that hope, no matter how small, goes a long way.
While I was gone, I had many thoughts where I felt like maybe writing wasn't for me. During the beginning of Quarantine back in 2020, I found myself able to write three 4,000 word chapters in a single night, and do it again the next night. I was able to complete a finished novel of over 130k words in exactly six months and had never felt prouder. Before COVID, I was in a writing slump. I hadn't written anything new in almost two years. I felt like a shell of the person I used to be so doing something so amazing as finishing a first novel felt unreal, and I was extremely proud of myself.
Things got bad again after I suffered a burnout shortly after finishing. Anything I wrote from then on felt bad, wrong, useless, and this carried well over into the new year and half of 2021. That was also around the time I made this website when I thought maybe creating a website might help motivate me to write again. As you could probably guess, it didn't.
Sure, I wrote a little something from time to time, but nothing I finished. I would think up these fantastic ideas, start them, but they would always remain unfinished. Why? Was it the fear of said stories not being good enough? The fear that I wasn't as good of a writer as I thought I was? Or was it simply the fear of my potential?
Well, I'd like to think of it as all of the above.
The funny part is, I'm still scared of all of the above. My life is looking so bleak right now, my motivation is minimal and my heart feels like it can't take anymore. There are many days where I've noticed myself thinking, "what's the point?"
But then I remember, despite all my fears and worries, that deep down that small, tiny spark of hope is still there. That deep down, that tiny spark of hope is the only thing keeping me going, and to survive I must hold on to that precious spark no matter what.
I know writing is my calling. I know writing is what I was put on this earth to do if not anything else. The thrill, the excitement, the overbearing happiness I get when I do write isn't something to be ignored. It's there, it's a part of me, and it makes a large portion of who I am.
I may not be published (yet). I may not have that large of a following or many readers. Hell, I may not have finished a single novel worth publishing. But my spotless track record, or lack thereof, as a writer doesn't dictate my worth as a writer. Because I know one day, I'll surpass my expectations and publish that novel despite all the odds and adversaries against me.
I was born to be a writer. I am a writer. And even my self-limitations and doubts can never stop that from being true.
With all that being said, expect to hear from me more often. About what I'm up to, what I'm working on, all of that. It may not be super frequent, but I will be around. Sorry, I left you guys hanging for so long.
I hope everyone is having a good morning/evening/night, and I will see you all soon.
Love,
M. P.