Every writer has their process.
Art and work are not- one size fit all.
Trying to make a one size fits all practice has a tendency to make others feel like failures if they can’t do it your way.
I have heard many people feel they have a story to tell but just don’t know how to get it out.
Some do morning pages. Some write when it hits them no matter where they are. Some sit and wait.
Everyone does it different and this is okay…
“When we write we don’t sit down knowing. We sit down desiring.”-Marybeth Bonfiglio
This is how it is for me. This gives me much peace as a writer.
I sit down not knowing. I sit down desiring.
I am a writer because I am. Not because I am the best at it. Or have a better story to tell.
I am a writer because I have a desire to sit down and write.
That is all. And that is all I need.
I sit down wether the words show up or not.
Wether the words form a neat pretty inspirational sentence or a messy heap of words.
It all matters.
It all comes from the belly of my soul.
It is all apart of how I live.
I show up because for me, I need too. I have too.
For me art is desiring.
It is blood and bone.
It is a life line as Susan Conway calls it.
I create because it is how over and over I have healed myself.
How I have gotten through, moved on, processed, showed up…
No matter where I have gone, who I have loved, what I have been through, art is the only companion that I have kept.
I have had seasons I didn’t create, it feels like a slow drown.
It feels like a forsaking.
It feels like a breath stolen here and there until there is no breath left.
Another words a dying of what is most deeply me.
It has felt like a burden at times the need to create.
The weight of wanting to bring forth life but feel the void where inspiration ‘should’ reside.
That’s the thing, the need to create doesn’t leave even if the inspiration has.
It’s like the need to love without a lover. This can be a deeply painful thing.
The isolation of nothingness that lives within your chest and brain.
It goes on and on until on day suddenly something changes and the inspiration comes back.
Flows out again from the rock that has been your body.
I sit down not knowing when or what magic will meet me.
I sit down desiring and this is enough.