Losing Your Passion

I’ve been a writer off and on since childhood. I remember writing a story when I was about 10 years old. I read it to my mother hoping for some encouragement. My timing was pretty poor as she was absorbed in some task of her own, so she didn’t pay much attention. What really started me writing though, was a notice in the local paper about a poetry contest they were holding. I immediately sat down and wrote a couple of poems in a steno pad. I never entered them and after reading the winning entry about a string of pearls, I was glad I hadn’t. I kept writing poetry, then someone gave me a tiny journal, with a lock on it. I wrote in that for a long time.  I remember writing about the young man I was dating. Eventually I read the entries in that journal then burned the whole thing in the fireplace. I didn’t want to be reminded about the cretin I’d dated.

Over the years I’ve come to realize that I write because I must. I’ve written poetry to express feelings that I often felt like I didn’t have any other outlet for. I’ve kept a journal off and on as a way to process and download whatever was bothering me. These days I still keep a journal, I’m trying to keep on top of this blog, and I’m working on several stories.

Several years ago, I realized that for me, writing is a passion. There are a lot of things I love to do, such as baking or blowing glass, but writing is a must do. If I don’t, I don’t sleep well then I get cranky.

Recently though, I felt myself losing my passion for writing. At first I thought it was just lack of space. My desk is always cluttered despite the fact that I do try to clear it off. Then I realized it was more than that.

It was also my roommate’s retirement. I had put a sign on my door that read, “Please Do Not Disturb.” He took it as a polite request. I tried, “Don’t Even Think of Disturbing Me.” That didn’t work either. Neither did a sign I found on Facebook that read, “WARNING! WRITER AT WORK! By Penalty Of Death Of Your Favorite Character Do Not Enter Except In Case Of Real Emergency. Things That Constitute A Real Emergency:

The House Is On Fire

The Zombie Apocalypse Has Begun

Lunch Is Ready”

My son took one look and said that I didn’t make lunch for anyone. I said that it was in case he made me lunch. That didn’t work either. Finally I made my own sign for the door that reads:

“IF THE DOOR IS CLOSED, DO NOT DISTURB IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM!! (DON’T SPEAK, TAP, KNOCK, OR IN ANY WAY DISTURB THE WRITER AT WORK). If the door is cracked open, then it’s okay to disturb me.”

This sign works for the most part. Only twice has it been violated. The first time my roommate found some cherry brandy in the cupboard that I bought for baking a long time ago. He tried it and a minute later was knocking on my door to tell me that it him hard. When he was done I made it clear that there were to be no more interruptions.

The second time it happened he couldn’t find some leftovers he wanted in the fridge. I pulled open the door like I wanted to yank it off the hinges. I gave him that look and showed him the leftovers while he apologized.

The other problem has been that with his retirement, I’m aware of his presence, even with the door closed. For a while I insisted that he get out of the house; daily if possible. Then I realized that wasn’t fair to him. I started looking at ways for me to go somewhere else to work for a couple of days a week. I looked at one place for writers. The problem was that it didn’t open till noon and riding the bus took at least an hour to get there. By the time I could get there, I’d be lucky to have three hours in which to work, before I had to come home. That’s when I realized that my local library had study rooms and a quiet area. Not only that, but it’s open by 10:00 a.m. and only half an hour by bus. So, that solved that problem.

That still didn’t solve my seeming lack of desire to write. That’s when I finally realized that I’m being inundated with information on how to make money as a freelance writer. I kept looking at the information and thinking, “I should try that. I could really use the money.” I finally realized that writing purely for money wasn’t for me.

Now that I’ve realized what’s really been bothering me, I’m ready to work on my stories again.