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I'm sitting here staring at a blank white screen trying to write and all I want to do is crawl back in bed ... at 10:30 am on a Sunday. It's stormy outside so that's a good excuse. Right? But it feels like I've had months worth of excuses not to write. Strike that ... years.
I haven't actively written anything but some mediocre poetry in over a year.
Okay, hold on. I'm being a little hard on myself.
There's been COVID, getting thrown into homeschooling, dealing with an abusive relationship, raising 3 kids (and multiple fur babies) on a limited budget, living in a much too small and much too old house, and dealing with having bipolar schizoaffective disorder.
So many excuses, might be what crosses your mind. It certainly does mine. But if anything they are reasons why writing hasn't been happening. Even when I did get free time, I'd spend it playing video games with friends or watching Netflix and YouTube.
If I did open a doc to write in, I'd just stare at it mind as blank as the page and wonder where my creativity had gone.
Well, I think I know where it went. It went into helping my very social 7-year-old cope with suddenly not being allowed to see their friends. It went into helping my 12 year old navigate their newfound gender identity. It went into planning inexpensive meals every week.
It went into finding ways to keep 3 kids occupied for month after month of lock down. When I did have some to spare, I very gladly spent it on playing D&D with friends, something that has become a lifeline for me.
I haven't been writing, but I've been oh so creative in so many other ways. Ways that kept me sane and my kids happy.
And I think that's worth a few blank pages.
And I think that's worth a few blank pages.
