Ravings of an underachiever: on Writing.

Ever since college ended I have lost my ability to write. Maybe it's because now there's no reason that I shouldn't be the famous published author that I've always dreamed of being. There's no more excuses and so my mind has become blank.

Enter: the Future. It's a scary, scary thing. I have created this blog in an effort to keep myself writing, but in places where no one will see me and where there is less pressure to be perfect. Hopefully, it will never be found out that I'm no good at what I do; at what I want to do.

My brain is blank. I've noticed that as I grow older there is less and less that I can make up. In college I lost my ability to write fiction and began writing fiction that was so obviously based upon my life that it was ridiculous and nonfictional stories of all the TERRIBLE things that have happened to me in my short life.

Maybe this is fear. Maybe it is because I've actually lived some life now and when I was younger I had to  make things up because there wasn't anything real in my past that I could draw upon. Maybe when I wrote about dragons and magic and alternate realities I was writing about past lives. Or maybe... just maybe... I used to think I was making things up when in fact cultural constructs around me were making these things jump into my mind. Maybe I have Asperger's and an amazing memory for stories, but no memory of where I get them from, and maybe through the process of earning my English degree I also had to learn to cite my sources and so I began to recognize that my ideas are not my own.

I have no ideas. I'm just writing to pass the time. Maybe someday I'll figure myself and everyone else out. Maybe someday I'll have an audience to write to and their dependence upon every beautiful word that comes out of my mind will drive me to create beautiful and wonderful things. Maybe I'm not ready to tie myself down to
 my eventual obvious outlet for creativity. Why can't I draw? or Act? or sing?

It's like hunting for a man. Why do I have to have just one? There's no perfect outlet for creativity. There's no perfect job. There's no perfect boytoy. Nothing fits perfectly, and when you put all your energy into one thing and are disappointed it's a much bigger disappointment then when you spread yourself out and give a little bit to everybody.

And that, my friends, makes me sound like a whore.

So on that note, I'm terrified of failure and rejection, but I'm putting myself out there anyway...

BECAUSE:
I wanna put my tender heart in a blender and watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion. Duh!