Every year on my birthday, I do a whole thing where I recommit to writing for one more year.
This isn’t an official recommitment ceremony or anything like that. It’s just a thing I’ve done the past few years that I’ve enjoyed doing, so I’ve kept doing it.
This year, because my actual birthday was a gloomy, rainy, lonely thing, I celebrated with a new journal, which I needed, and some new stickers, which I wanted, and a couple of pens and markers, which matched and were also on sale.
I’ve learned over the years to pay attention to the universe when it’s screaming messages at you at the top of its lungs. This, I think, was one of those times. And I’m still not exactly sure what it was saying, only that it was saying something, and maybe that is enough for me to shut up, lean in, and listen.
Another thing I need to do more of?
Talking.
Or blogging.
Sharing.
Whatever.
Years ago, when I used this blog to jot down writing thoughts between classes. Back then, everybody had a blog, so me having a blog felt a lot less like me having a blog.
I’ve talked before about how useful it was to write down thoughts, share them with others, and how the conversations (and the friendships) that came out of those times shaped the foundation of who I am as a writer.
I like to think I’m a better writer because of the smol effort I put into a smattering of words ten years ago.
I know I am a better person because of the friends I met.
Journaling hasn’t had the same impact for me. I still do it, three pages every day, a holdover from my time doing Morning Pages through Julia Cameron’s Artist’s Way practice.
But I miss sharing with others. I miss working riding the highs and lows with writer friends.
I don’t know what that looks like, though. I don’t know if it looks like a podcast or a blog or something else entirely. I’m here because this is where I left you last, this is what is most familiar and where I feel most comfortable.
And to be frank, I am tired tonight and don’t feel like learning a new app.
If you’re out there, maybe it’s enough to say:
I’m out here, too. I’m writing a big, scary thing. I’m turning in another big, scary thing this week, for the first time in a couple of years.
Hi. My name is Liz. I write books. It’s nice to meet you.