Please Understand Why

Hardwork

Creative: adjective; relating to or involving the imagination or original ideas, especially in the production of an artistic work. As well as a noun, informal, meaning a person who is creative, typically in a professional context.

         It's been so long since I've truly dived in and just wrote anything artsy. I had to look up the term to remind myself of what I was truly trying to tap into. I used to write chapters upon chapters of work. For fun. Now every time I even think about writing I'm hit with a roadblock. I thought this class would be a breeze for me. I was wrong.

" It would be a great fit for you Unknown!"

" You can do this in your sleep!"

Who lied to them. I stare at the prompts empty-minded scared to write the wrong word.

       Sitting at the kitchen pen in hand, in front of a blank notebook. Brand new just for the occasion. I reread the prompt. Ideas fly in my mind as I play through them, tears pool in my eyes. I stop, clearing my head, taking a deep breath. Wiping my face I stare at the wall in front of me. Stressed. Why it is frustrating me? This is what I do. We will try again tomorrow. News flash tomorrow is the due date. I can't though. I'll turn it in late. I'll still get some points then.

Tomorrow always turned into never.

          I  used to write to talk to people. To express emotions I could never say to them. A therapy. A way to get over the reckless thoughts that invaded me. I lost my touch. I remember writing my chapters. The way words spilled out of me. The way it felt to hit publish. The sleepless nights. The peace of mind of it all. My favorite part was the titles.

The fear.

The shaky breaths.

          The disappointment in every word that appeared on the screen. Slamming of computers, yelling, and tears. The anger in the cursor trying to highlight the right word or letter. The dark and gloomy shame that came with not having anything to give for review.

          All at the same time, I feel free. With every word a piece of myself opened up, I learn a little more. I feel like screaming and jumping in joy. Pure bliss. Despite the angry heavy metal in the background, I was at peace in a meadow. Surrounded by blankets and pillows. Floating on the grass. Breathing the fresh air. Feeling time slow down. I was no longer in the smelly kitchen. I had escaped. I was in a sacred place. Where myself and I could be one and chat. I had missed her, we had quite a lot to catch up on and I had no plans on leaving until we had finished.

        I'm overjoyed. Honestly, writing is so stressful. I understand why kindergartens cry. I do too. Now add the element of being creative. That's a whole new ballpark. What I deem as creative, others may not. This seems a lot more personal than an art class. Writing is so personal. These are my words. From my brain! Put on this page then sent for interpretation. Someone is going to sit back and read this. Pick it apart and then tell me...

        I love it! There are so many possibilities of the outcome. I'm terrified but so pumped up. It's the process. The sacred process. An intimate process that happens between me and the computer. I love my little meadow, with my blankets and fresh air.

Creative writing is finding your sacred meadow, where you can be free with no regard. I may have to use google to get me started but the end product is of my own, that's all that matters. 

Hardwork,

Unknown