I’m writing…

If you had told me at the start of quarantine in March of this year that by December I would be reading and writing every day, I would most certainly have thought you’d lost your damn mind. Early this year was tough. For me and everyone in the world. I felt the rug get snatched out from under me and wandered directionless. As a joke I saw on Twitter said: “Planning for the future during COVID is speculative fiction.” Indeed, that’s how it feels.

So instead of planning for my own speculative future, I dove into the imaginations of authors far and wide. With help from a genetics test, I was finally able to start a medication that works well for my depression and anxiety disorders, and I’m able to focus long enough to read again. Reading has inspired writing.

So I write. I write a little every day. Sometimes, I write a lot a day. I don’t know if it’s good stuff that I’m writing, and I don’t care. I’ve started a good dozen of short stories, and I’m impressed with my own capacity for creativity. I truly didn’t know I had it in me. Thank you modern medicine.

I’m currently trying to hone my skills as a writer. Like I said in a previous post, I haven’t really written any creative fiction in over 10 years until a few months ago. I’m rusty. Actually, I don’t know if I was ever any good. The stories I wrote in high school sure sound terrible. Haha. So I’m reading books about writing, taking segments of writing courses as I can, watching a lot of Youtube videos about writing and publishing, befriending authors and trying to work up the nerve to ask them for advice. One sweet man, whose work I really enjoy, offered to read some stuff for me whenever I feel like sending it, but so far I’ve not gathered the confidence to do so more than once (thanks Luke, if you read this. I’ll send some more eventually).

I’ve found that, while it’s difficult for me to share my work with people I know, sending in submissions is not as nerve-wracking. For some reason. I’ve sent out four submissions over the past month, and that feels good. I don’t have high hopes for any of them getting back to me with positive news, but it doesn’t matter. It felt good to send something in. Like I could look in my email outbox and see something tangible that I finished. That’s a good fuckin’ feeling for someone who feels like they haven’t completed anything in over a decade.

So, I’m writing. It’s a journey already. Let’s see where I go.