An Untapped Vein; February 23 2020

I genuinely thought I might never write again. I didn’t know where to find the motivation to do something that might not matter to anyone. If no one is reading, then no one will care if I stop writing, right?

But writing is a huge part of my identity. Ultimately, I managed to start working again over the past week. Writing feels like the only thing within my control, the sole chance I have to work towards a better future for my kid and myself.

So I wrote.

It hasn’t been easy. It’s slow going. Depression hits hard, and as life is wont to do, bad things keep piling on. Financial woes, health issues, and frequent reminders that my relationships are distant or in shambles. Every rejection in my email inbox hits that much harder. Still, I’m pressing on.

There’s nowhere to go but onward. Life will progress with or without me.

The good thing about my current project of choice is that it lends itself well to inspiration. The premise is this: a man, formerly homeless, moves into his deceased grandmother’s apartment and turns in her old journals to a book exchange that accepts them. He winds up taking home journals of strangers, whose tragic accounts all lead to how they became monsters. I’m talking classic horror movie monsters, not ‘isn’t the real monster... mankind?’.

Now I’ve got some quality antagonists for future books, and a whole overarching universe to play with. I’m a little relieved; there’s always been a part of me that worried that I only had one or two stories in me.

So, here’s hoping that I get more opportunities to sit down with my laptop. Here’s hoping the pain lessens and the words come more easily. I have a lot of writing ahead of me.