The Next Step: Getting creative

It’s time to write.

That is the last line of the post about my writing epiphany in March. Have I been writing? A little. It is hard to transition to a new career/life course when working full-time and coping with a health problem and existential crisis at the same time. But I have one freelance piece under my belt and plan to start pitching and writing after the craziness of the next couple weeks.

(Yes, I returned to my beer-writing roots despite not wanting to. I have the contacts and leftover ideas, so I want to use them.)

My decision to switch to writing induced a lot of stress in May. I could not sleep. I lost my appetite; I forced myself to eat. I was restless and could not relax. I worried constantly. The switch will be a life-changing event, and I want to ensure I am changing my life for the better.

Thankfully, I had an epiphany about my epiphany. As I lay in bed one night, racked with anxiety, ready to toss and turn until morning, I realized my epiphany was not about freelancing, not about being an independent journalist. It was about writing—all forms of writing. Freelancing is only part of my planned switch. I want writing to be part of my professional life, but I also want to write creatively again. That realization calmed me and eased my anxiety. I don’t remember if I slept better that night, but I’ve slept better since.

I recently rediscovered essays and stories I wrote in college and California. They’re heartfelt, passionate, and terse pieces I forgot about. Reading them was like meeting a past self—a surreal experience. It was like when I would return to Iowa City from the West Coast, walk into my room at my parents’ house, and be confronted with my life and the person I was before I moved. Some of the pieces are not bad, some of them need work, and some of them are good—really good. They proved inspirational and encouraging, reminders of my ability and passion.

I never wanted to become one of those writers who stops writing, but I did. I never stopped writing period; I freelanced, blogged, and journaled a lot, so I have always been writing. But I stopped writing creatively around the time I returned to Iowa. Though I have attempted to write a novel at least twice, I have not written any short stories or essays.

Why? Work. It has taken over my life (or I have allowed it to take over my life)—something I also never wanted to happen. My job has almost turned me into an emotionless automaton. It’s not that I have a hard time switching from work to personal life, or do not want to spend more time on my laptop after eight hours of reading and answering emails, editing letters, and recordkeeping, because I do it every day. It’s because work has robbed me of my passion and left me with nothing to write about. It has turned me into someone I don’t recognize, someone different than the person who wrote those essays and stories I rediscovered. I originally considered my job a vehicle to financially enable my writing, and it was. It still is, but at some point it became a mental and emotional impediment.

Maybe it’s because I do not have the calming influence of the beach and ocean blocks away, am unable to easily access waves to wash away my stress.

Regardless, it’s going to stop. I’m going to be creative again.

How do I do that? The way I always have: observation and writing what I know. Nonfiction is easier than fiction for me, which is one reason why I love it. It combines elements of fiction to chronicle real life, to make sense of the world. Fiction can draw inspiration from the same, but I am a hardcore realist; everything needs to make sense. (To be fair, though, not everything makes sense in real life.) First drafts don’t need to be perfect. Simpler is better. Bobblehead’s productivity and imagination are inspirations. I need to pick his brain to learn what works for him.

And my novel? I still have research I want to do, stuff I want to figure out, but I will return to it. I thought of a great first line a few days ago, so it is on my mind, as it has been for years.

Writing is what I do. It’s who I am. Writing, putting my thoughts and imagination into words, is one of the things that makes me happy. It’s time to do it again.

It’s time to get creative.