It’s all write…

It’s been hard for me to get back into a good head space for writing. I think I felt for a while as if I had used all my words up. That the thing I seemed to do so naturally just wasn’t flowing. The taps were on but the water had been cut off. Not even a drip. I’ve had plenty of creative blocks, and I’ve always smashed them out of the way. But I think the hammer in that situation was in the form of a deadline. Something that I absolutely had to do because I was trying to get my degree. This was always the driving force. I had to somehow squeeze something out of my brain in order to achieve the goal – a degree in Creative Writing. Whilst using that force, I didn’t then have anything left to use as an outlet, hence why this blog has been suffering a slow and painful death. A death that I keep trying to prolong by putting out half arsed ‘updates’ and making myself feel guilty for not doing anything about.

Trying to get the water flowing again has been a mission. Something that I have had a million conversations about in my head, which I am realising now is an extremely pointless practice. Conversations are generally supposed to include two or more people, Laura. You can’t just make do with plotting things privately in your head. I’m not trying to make excuses, but I’ve been experiencing the same creative block I had at uni. Not the one that would ever hinder me doing work for my degree, but the one that hindered this personal creative outlet. Everything I was writing was for something. For a mark, to fit a tick list, to please someone else so that in return, I would get what I wanted out of it. To wear a cap and gown and be handed my degree (that I would later forget the location of). The thing stopping me from writing for me was uni, and now that’s over, you would have thought I would be gushing with freedom and creativity and that novels would just start falling from my fingertips. But no, I had to go and mess that up by joining the ‘real world’. *shudders*

I can now officially say that I have left university, moved on and up to the big city and am a writer. I have somehow managed to land myself the role of Content Creator at an online fashion brand in London. Yeah, I still get weird saying it out loud. And almost feel a bit embarrassed at how it sounds! Sounds like the dream, right? Sounds like the perfect ending to the fairy tale of life we tell ourselves, to get through the many years and trials and tears of our well educated childhoods. Study hard, get the job, close the book, jobs a good’un, yeah? I half feel this.

I am utterly and wholeheartedly so beyond amazed at the fact that this is now my life. I’m going to (hopefully, we’ll see how well this motivation lasts) write a whole other post about my job and what I’m actually doing now. To be honest, I am more amazed that the first job I have somehow managed to land, is something that uses my degree?! Unheard of, am I right? People don’t actually use their degrees, do they? Unless of course you’re doing a medical degree or something like that. But yeah, I’m using my degree. It’s still pretty mind blowing for me. Now let me get to the other hand of this.

In the other hand sits the creative block. I spend all day, all week writing, and I really enjoy it. But I feel like all my words get used up and my creativity struggles to break through into anything that’s not work related. Like anything, it’s a muscle. It needs to be used, stretched, shaped, pushed to its limits in order to grow and thrive. My classes at uni used to stretch that muscle for me without having to think much about it. As much as there was little to no room for it to seep into any personal project, it was being tested within the various tasks I had to complete. And now, my creative range is limited, and I can feel the muscle growing weak and starting to wither. With this, my motivation and inspiration followed. I want it back. I think I have spent so long thinking about writing, that it almost felt as if I were writing. Speechless isn’t a common state for me, but I guess wordless is. I didn’t realise that all I had to do was just write. Consider the floodgates open! If you’re still with me by this stage, then congratulations and thank you for getting this far. Although you’re probably either my mum or you just have nothing better to be doing with yourself. Either way, you’re very much welcome to continue enjoying this complete stream of consciousness that no one asked for. (Hi, mum).

I’m not going to promise to be more coherent in my next post. Hell, I’m not even going to promise a next post as we all know what I’m like. But it’s time to try to practise what I preach, and stop doing things for anyone other than myself. Words are words, and this is my place to make them fit together as I choose. For no other reason than that I just wanted to sit here a spew all this out into the void of the internet. Probably for my own sanity. And it feels like the biggest sigh of relief. I always forget how therapeutic this is to me. I neeeeeed to remember this feeling. Just. Bloody. Write.

This is me being accountable. I hope at least.

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