I am beginning the year with an inquiry into joy. Specifically joy in my writing.
Last year, the joy dribbled out of me. Let’s just say some things happened and gradually, writing began to feel like a duty. A have-to. A if-I-don’t, I-won’t-be me-and-I-may-as-well-die feeling. It was terrible. I dreaded sitting down to face the blank page. Too much was riding on the words.
I know a bit about why it was happening and I will get into in later posts. Maybe. But for now, I am announcing my inquiry into joy. What will it be? Showing up here every day for ten to fifteen minutes and connecting with the freedom of writing. For me.
Why here? Where it can be read by anyone? Well, it makes me take the sitting down and doing it a bit more seriously. That’s all.
Have I experienced joy while writing? Yes. Absolutely. I love the experience of creating a character and having them explain their world to me. I love explaining the world to myself. I love revealing self to self and self to other.
Also, a little over two years ago, I fell in love. Slowly and madly. It was delicious. It began by writing. Every day for four months. I couldn’t wait to sit down at the page and share secrets, memories and stories. That was joy. And when I wasn’t at the page, I was writing in my head. That was joy. Every minute at the page (and not) was joy.
At the end of those four months, we kissed.
That was a different kind of joy.