The words do not want to come.

Another month. Another Monday.

More questions.

Less certainty.

For some time now it’s felt as if everything is about to fall apart. I’ve been standing on the edge for so long, somehow managing to balance. There are all these saying about how things falling apart might be the best thing that’s ever happened to you, but I am extremely doubtful. I think I’d be too tired to build anything out of the rubble.

I know I cling too hard to things sometimes. It’s a side effect of loss.

If I look like I’m not affected by things, it’s because I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t begin to express it.

If this little piece of writing is a little lacking, it’s because I have so many thoughts running around in my head that catching one long enough to get it to stand still is nearly impossible.

I would like to tell you all my secrets, but then I’d have to let them go. And it’s hard to do that when I’m not sure I understand most of them myself.

The Aging of a Writer’s Mind

If you knew me a long time ago, or even just a few years ago, believe it when I say that I am different now. In a lot of ways I’m the same, because most people are pretty much who they are in certain, fundamental ways from a very young age. Maybe even the moment they’re born. However, then there’s life, which tends to happen to everyone, and some of us end up being different than how we were, or how we thought we would be.

Generally, people change a bit over time. It’s what they call “growing up” and it sucks.

When I was a very young writer — you know, like 8, 10, 14… — I had so much creative energy. Writing came easily, and although I didn’t really write anything I would call publishable, it was really good for my age. I think of it as developing my craft, so that fact that I’m never going to make money off the stuff I wrote then doesn’t matter.


I can’t say how long exactly, but it’s been such a long time since I had a story in me that I just HAD to write down. It comes once in a while for little ideas, images or just some way of phrasing an obvious aspect of life that seems too important not to put into the world (although I rarely find that the pieces I like best are the ones anyone else really responds to). Those are generally things that I put onto this site as flash pieces. But stories that have a full plot and a length that allows readers to delve into them have not leaped out of me with the wild abandon they used to for quite a while.

I have all sorts of theories about why that is. I don’t know what’s the truth, so I don’t really want to ramble on about that. But when I look at how I used to write, with certainty and energy and the ability to immerse myself in the work, versus the current habits of letting a story sit for years that could be written in a week, wondering if it’ll be worth it, never being able to fully picture the world of my characters, it seems a lot like a side effect of growing up.

While I was thinking about this stupid, stupid fact, I first dubbed it the “maturation of my writing mind.” I immediately decided that didn’t sound right. My writing skills are undoubtedly better now than they were when I was 10, but would I really consider this state now “mature” in comparison to the mindset that allowed me to write without forcing myself to sit down at a keyboard? No. I really wouldn’t. If I had been actively writing all this time, then I could think of the development as maturation. It’s not the case.


I haven’t been growing more mature, just growing older. It’s funny, because I used to be very mature for my age. I think I’ve actually regressed in that department.

At the moment I’m trying really hard to motivate myself, to improve all aspects of my life, including writing. I have no idea how that will go. Stick around; maybe I’ll have some good news in a few months…

Eyes Open

Spring is an odd progression. It comes phase after blooming phase, a transition that overlaps so much with winter that it becomes almost impossible to tell when it really begins. Right now, the magnolia trees are full of blossoms and a few other trees here and there show their buds in various shades of bright green. Others are still as bare as ever, with no sign of their seasonal green peeking through yet. The change happens so slowly, it is easy to miss the moments when it first starts to show.