Something (Not) New

Who am I and what am I doing here?

I make fun of writers who blog about the creative drive. I poke fun at folks who pontificate on and on as if they’ve figured shit out.

Here I am, being an asshole, writing about the creative drive–but I’m going to be honest and assure you that I have NO IDEA what I’m doing.

That’s kinda the point. After all these years of identifying as a writer and a creative individual, I still haven’t figured out the most rudimentary elements of my own practice, still haven’t clearly identified for myself what actually works, and I sure am a sucker for buying books written by writers that claim to have answers.

I’ve tried all kinds of prescriptive practices. I’ve even cast spells.  That’s right. I wrote some stuff and lit it on fire and then wished/pushed/intentioned with all my heart.  With mixed results.

I have zero productive consistency. I don’t even know if productive consistency is an actual thing, but it strikes me that I wanna’ be producing a whole lot more solid work–and yet, I don’t.

Yet, I want to.

So who am I?

Let’s start with the basics. I’m a 45-year-old CISFemale in a 20+ year marriage, with two kids, a dog, a cat and a house in the ‘burbs.  The potential for KAREN is strong in this one, you are thinking (or maybe that’s just what I’m thinking).  I’m white-facing and even identify mostly as white, although my identity is murkier than that at times (and probably worth a note of its own later).

I work full-time in a large, urban high school as an English Teacher.  I also help coordinate a college-prep mentor program within that high school.  Once a month I facilitate a community writing workshop at my local library. I’m a member of a spiritual community. I attend my girls’ school activities.  Sometimes my clothes are even clean.

And I’m a writer.  After everything else gets done,
if there is anything left, I write.

Since the world shut down during the Pandemic and then re-emerged a little more hostile, a little more frenetic (do I mean frantic?), and even more demanding, I have felt like my creativity, that spark, was a burnt end.

Other than penning the occasional thing, I have submitted nothing (I do not count the three months that I journaled from March 2020 to June 2020 or the poem I wrote after: ).  I’ve played around on Instagram and lost my soul to countless cat videos and dancing roller-skating brothers. 

What am I doing here, then?

I have no idea. I’m going to come by here every so often and hold myself accountable to something new I’m trying, some new thing I’m attempting to ‘spur’ on creativity. I’ll informally report on some creative conversations I have with other actual creative people who’ve agreed to ‘go on the record’ as to their own process.  Maybe I’ll get somewhere.

Poet… heal thyself.

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