It's been too long since I've posted. I felt bad about that until I popped over to my roommate's blog and noticed she hasn't posted at all there this year. (Check it out, she has a link to a blog she was featured on, there... so proud.)It's funny, the other day I was contemplating how, for me, writing isn't just my job. It's how I process and how I feel better and happier and how I work through things. Today, I opened one of my writing newsletters (I was a little behind, give me a break), and in it, were a bunch of responses to Dawn Copeman's article about life block, and writing as therapy (article in the newsletter).
When I'm mad, I write. When I'm happy, I write. When I hate the world, I write. When I'm tired, I write. You get the picture. It's my way of working through things, finding solutions and just getting it off my chest. I was pleased to learn others feel the same.
I read, somewhere, that many authors wrote their best books when going through something that shaped them, somehow. What they wrote about doesn't necessarily have anything to do with what they were going through, but the two played off one another. Like, working on a solution to another's problems (fictional or otherwise) helped them solve their own. Or at least helped them through.
I'm out. Need to finish working before going to Celi's graduation (from her master's program). Congratulations, Celi!
