Reclaiming and Listening to My Inner Writer

Note on Tolkien's grave

A note that I wrote and placed on the grave of Tolkien – he is an amazing writer who inspired me.

Monday is my media day. That is what I should write about and focus on in today’s post. Doing anything different would be against the schedule that I set and posted for my readers to see. Thus, I would essentially be lying to them as well as not being organized.

These were the thoughts that circled through my head several times today as numerous ideas came to me about this blog. Each idea was shot down by my brain or written on a note to address in the future.

At play practice tonight for the show on creativity and faith, I realized how often I tell my inner artist no. The ideas and creativity that wells up inside of me is silenced by the scholar, the perfectionist, the organizer, the judger, and the practical part of me. No wonder writing seems like such a challenge with no joy! I am no longer engulfed in imagination or the process; it has become a task, a way to function and communicate. That is all.

Those are wonderful uses for writing. However, missing the creativity and allowing the art to work through you leaves me feeling drained of enthusiasm. I need to get back to listening to my inner writer.

This is not something that will happen overnight and change everything. The transition will take time, tears, and tons of effort. However, it is possible.

I am still that toddler amazed by the cap of an acorn, buds emerging into flowers, and trying to catch a piece of the sky while on a swing. I am still that little girl who saw stories in each raindrop sliding down the window, robin hopping across the branch, and star outshining the rest. I am still that pre-teen longing to learn if magical creatures were hiding outside of our eyesight, how trying to live on another planet would look, or why pain and beauty seemed to intersect so often.

That girl is still somewhere in me. She is just lost, tied up by my fears and the rejections of others. Her mouth has been gagged so her words do not poison my thoughts or lead me off track. Bound hands and feet keep her from moving or even writing a note to communicate. She is alone, locked at the bottom of a dark cage miles under the earth.

Just the thought of that makes me so sad and angry. How dare I have treated her this way? Why did others address her with such disdain? What was so monstrous about her that people rejected her?

Fear. That was the main thing.

Well, that would be simplifying things. I was afraid and confused. My imagination and creativity was different, confusing, and even scary to others. As I realized this, I adopted an even more frightened response. After all, others could choose to leave me and forget about my strangeness. However, I could not leave myself and certainly did not want to be left alone if I was so disgusting and weird.

So I changed. Cutting, not eating, over-eating, numbing my brain – anything I could do to get out of my head and away from myself was what I turned to doing. This ended up harming me greatly, but I believed that it kept me safe and sane.

Now, there is still a chance for me to go back and reclaim that creativity and my inner artist who is partially a writer. I have been doing that slowly over the past few years but need to keep working at it. This play is a great chance for me to begin doing so.

Yes, my imagination and creativity is different. It is not just nice, sweet, and rosy. Parts of it are dark, hardened, and abnormal. I dream about princesses who are not perfect but forced into horrible situations that they must emerge from more broken than before but with a scarred strength. My thoughts on space stretch to strange planets filled with places that I want to explore myself instead of simply hear about from an outside source. Darkness spirals in many of my daydreams as themes of hardship, loss, abuse, and other hard themes weigh upon me.

In the midst of that confusion and strangeness, there is a beauty to my creativity. The darkness is laced with light, the tragedy with hope, the loss with gain. That is what people did not stay long enough to see. That is what I must communicate through my art. The agony is so real but so is the love.

This process will take time, as I mentioned already. However, I hope that you will join me on this journey as you will be some of the first to see how it happens. Perhaps I might even set up another blog for fiction (which I am usually too scared to write or share).


5 thoughts on “Reclaiming and Listening to My Inner Writer

  1. mihrank says:

    Kindly support me on Facebook Fanpage. Appreciate if you could please ‘like’ my page :

  2. mary says:

    Your imagination already shows in your writing with every word you choose. “A rose with thorns” “hope and recovery” “Darkness spirals” “engulfed in imagination” these words come from a beautiful deep imagination and this is at least one of the things people like about your writing. Anyway, good luck!

  3. […] Reclaiming and Listening to My Inner Writer – Rose with Thorns […]

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