On writing, intimately.

Shortly after posting last week, I was laying my littlest one down for a nap and reflecting upon what I had written. The driving reason behind taking on this blog again, particularly in the loose and light way that I am, is to encourage a shift in my writing style. And to be honest, I didn’t know what I was looking for as I began, but there’s something about process that seems to shine a light upon those hidden desires.

And when I was reflecting last week, I felt an itch of dissatisfaction. It was my voice that bothered me, more than the topic. It felt like I was shouting, like I was standing before a bunch of people in front of a crumbling capitol building and speaking into a microphone. I dunno.

I know I can write like that. I know I can write speeches and feel decently confident about them, and I know I can write a damn good academic paper when I’m feeling it. But I really want to cultivate the kind of writing style that emulates a conversation between friends, over a cozy cup of tea.

And the other thing: I’m tired of writing from my head. Honestly, this is probably my biggest struggle in writing, and now that I’m saying it, probably the driving force behind my shouting voice too. I’ve been much too invested in saying “important” things, rather than things that are true.

Rather than “not writing from my head” – another mental exercise, oof – I’m going to practice writing from my heart, and my gut.

My valuation of writing, which stems back into some of my first memories (copying a Little Critter book down in my own scrawly hand lol) has always been as a thing of the soul. It is that connection, that soul craft, that I aim – no, long – to cultivate with my words.

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