Why the Hiatus?
I honestly can’t remember when I last wrote an entry. I initially pivoted from Blogger to WordPress in an attempt to provide more writer-focused content (also, oooh, isn’t WP just so much prettier?). But after no more than a few entries, the activity grew tedious and painful.
With side-hobbies like this, there will always exist some level of drab “work” but it should never outweigh the joy it’s meant to bring. The new direction had pushed the scale to become massively uneven and I quietly walked away.
So here’s to starting again: writing entries that I care about, without worrying whether people give a crap about what I have to say.
Ultimately, what brings you to this site is curiosity. Curiosity in what I might have to say, what my life might entail, and the lessons I’ve learned, which you may or may not have any use for. But in the end, it’s for me. It always has been, even if I never admitted it. I write these entries because they’re good practice. They require purpose and a structure: a beginning, middle, and end. Such as any story. But I also write them because they’re an emotional release. They’re well-thought-out carefully crafted personal reflections that distract me from idleness. A writer’s mind can be a scary place. Without the ability to daydream to the point of obsession, I don’t know if I could’ve written all those long ass novels. Idleness for a mind like mine is its own kind of purgatory.
So this is where I begin. I’m enjoying the first few days of Maternity Leave. I’ve promised not to think about my job and simply focus on this new life. I’m one week (give or take a day) from my due date. We’re having a baby girl, whose features for the past nine months, I’ve struggled to picture. I feel her rolling and stretching inside of me and yet the vision of her in my arms still feels impossible and unreal. I haven’t met her yet and already, I love her.
Saying those words brings a sharp sting to my eyes. The kind filled with happiness, because how beautiful is that? Like the stories I’ve written, she’ll always be a part of me. But she’ll be she so much more. I’ve created many things in my life but never a life with a soul.
I’ve prepared as much as I could in anticipation of her arrival, but I know it will never be enough. She will likely teach me more than I could ever teach myself.
Balancing writing while being pregnant…
Challenging is putting it mildly. With the new role at work and all the fun symptoms of pregnancy, my discipline suffered these past several months. Despite what I said earlier, being a skilled obsessive daydreamer is not enough to produce a well-written story. Oh the many novels, I might’ve written…
You need discipline, time, and mental sharpness.
Unfortunately, pregnancy-brain is legit. And so is the fatigue. Along with the numerous ailments that come with the transformation required to incubate a growing human. My coping strategy after a long day of work was to endlessly daydream, which as noted above, absent of any followup, created nothing. I was trapped in my own head without an escape.
So I occupied myself in other ways. I focused on growing my author Instagram, which led to an increase in the discovery and sales of my books. Hooray! I joined a new writers group, became BFF’s with my library card, and prepared our home for the new baby.
Remembering my Promise
Despite the lack of traction in writing my next short story and novel, the promise I made to myself a long time ago remains unwavering: I would fulfill three purposes before I died (sort of grim to think about right now, I know). It’s mostly one true purpose, but each of the three is a significant milestone worthy of its own spotlight. I aim to write and finish the stories that have haunted me since my early twenties. They’re exclusive from other personal goals, like being a good mom, being a good friend, and living an honest life, etc. I still believe that everything in my life happened as it should so that I could be the writer I was meant to be.
There have been many late nights where I laughed at how naive and foolish these thoughts of grandeur were. As if I was meant to be someone remarkable in this world. But these promises aren’t meant to be grand. All they are is a needle pointing North. Being a writer is the identity that kept me from going astray, from wandering aimlessly; anxious about who I was supposed to be, and asking unanswerable questions that kept drowning me in melancholy. Before then, I tried to enjoy the escapism of youth and a kind of YOLO lifestyle only to be met with disappointment. The choices I made always took more than they gave. It’s a philosophy that quickly compounded in a tally of regrets, adding up in a ledger I couldn’t burn and forget.
That’s when I learned that both aimlessness and idleness were dangerous to me. Identifying and solidifying three simple purposes is what gave me focus.
But these promises require an investment in time, and it’s a fast disappearing currency in my household. That’s ok. I have faith. And soon, I’ll have someone looking up to me, who expects me to make a good example–as someone who keeps her promises.
Thank you so much for stopping by. I honestly don’t normally write in such somber tones. I do hope that you picked up on the range of emotions and mind-space that I’ve been experiencing as I enter this exciting and unknown doorway into a new world.
For me, life and writing are interchangeable. As such, I’ll be writing more…about life. Feel free to stop by anytime you want to see how things are going, and what I’m ruminating on these days.