I have been an artist of sorts all of my life. I write. I play music. I write music. I paint and sketch. I dance. I was always the kid who found it easier to communicate through a letter or a poem or a song then having to compose my sentences whilst I looked at you. Maybe you’re an artist of sorts too? What inspires us or crushes our creativity is always fascinating to me.
It has been really difficult to write lately.
I am not feeling shy of creativity. In fact, sometimes when life is most complicated or painful or difficult, I find myself inspired with more and more material to work with. Yet… I have started a lot of blogs, songs, poems, pages of sorts. None of them complete.. none of them finished.
It is a different kind of creativity slump.
My head is a spin of many concepts and heartaches and I am finding it difficult to process. The topics I most want to write about are too close to my heart for the public to read. Or anyone to read for that matter but maybe one or two. So instead of blogging or songs or working on some writings I would like to expose my friends to or the wider public, I hibernate and write letters in a journal. A lot of letters. Two journals in fact. Words on a page that aren’t for you or you or you.
They are for… me. I guess. Or.. not.
Writing feels crippled and stunted because there are concepts and ideas I’d like to write about on here but I am afraid to. How do I write about some topics when I think I think in a way that is so foreign to most. I’d love to have some natter time with you on here about them. Really. It would be interesting and stimulating discussion. But my bravery has gone away. I know I am letting fear grip me. I don’t have anyone to be brave for me and I am not brave.
Then there are the things that are most precious. They are so precious they really need to be read to my best friend. But instead.. I keep them in a journal.. lots and lots of personal letters.
If letters could talk.. and they can in a way.. maybe they’d ask to be sent to someone.
But instead.. I will close the journal for another night. Procrastinate on the blog… and not finish what I really want to say just yet and leave it til another night.