old school

Some weeks ago, my mom and I found ourselves riffling through some old report cards and papers of mine from way back when (I'm talking my elementary era, which was in the late early nineties). Exactly why we were up to our arms in worksheets and handwriting samples (both mine and my brother’s) escapes me, but it was spontaneous and fun, and that experience really impacted me. For a moment, I had a glance of what it might be like to be a parent one day, watching my own child grow and learn. My mom’s still proud of my work samples from years past: “Look at how detailed that old drawing was!” “Can you believe you wrote this in fifth grade?” she remarked.

I have to admit, revisiting some of those old papers and projects was sort of embarrassing, especially samples of my earliest writings, including a cheesy poem I once wrote for one of the pastors at my church (all the stanzas rhymed, but sometimes awkwardly so!). Yet some of my work surprised me—it wasn’t too bad. In fact, it was kind of good—like this poem I found in a collection of nature writing I had to create for maybe a third grade project and a short story I wrote in fifth grade that eventually ended up winning a school contest.

Why don’t I write like that anymore? I mused to myself. And to be honest, I’m still wrestling with the question. I’m not sure when it happened that I stopped working on creative fiction and transitioned into the world of nonfiction writing, which is certainly exciting, but it seems as though I’ve been ignoring this other voice, this hungry creative impulse that longs to make something out of nothing. Writer Brenda Ueland believes the desire to create and express are a key signifier of our humanity: “writing (is) this: an impulse to share with other people a feeling or truth” (If You Want to Write 21) one has. I like that idea, and I think it rings pretty true for me.

Since my walk down memory lane, I’ve been thinking a lot about my writing, and how I can get better about doing it for myself and to share with others—not at my day job, that doesn’t count—on a regular basis. I’ve decided two things: First, I’m going to start posting more frequently. In order to do so, I’m not just writing about books anymore because as much as I enjoy that, I think this narrow scope was restricting my creative juices. Although I read often, what was happening was I kept finishing books, setting them aside to post on, and then putting off the post, as if it were a dreaded high school English assignment, even though I really like writing about books.

My other epiphany was short and sweet: whatever I do in life, I always want to be writing. I’ve been  struggling a lot with figuring out  my career ambitions lately, because although I enjoy my current job, I'm not necessarily passionate about it. I have yet to find a career path I’m ready to throw my heart into—a vocation.

This is my second attempt at getting this blog going—I’ll still be writing on stories, as I had originally intended, but I'll also write on the other ways that I nourish my mind, body, and soul. In short, my new focus will be journeys, which I think is an appropriate term to use as an umbrella for all of my interests. Right now I feel like a phony at this blogging thing, but maybe that’s because I haven’t made a serious commitment to posting on a regular basis. So. From now on, I’ll be commenting more frequently, and I'll try and remember what my mom said to me while we were looking at those “vintage” papers, as a means of moral support, “I always knew you’d be a writer, Erin.” Thanks mom! I hope this comes true.