Finding Who I Am Outside of Writing

Losing yourself in your art can be exactly what you need to do. Just like our readers bury themselves inside our stories to forget, we also escape into the story. 

Whew. Okay, that was serious for like ten more seconds than I anticipated. But I kind of want to see where this goes so let’s continue. 

*Starts shouting in British* I was DEPRESSED. 

“Oh God, not this again.” 

YES THIS AGAIN. It’s MY blog I get to talk about what I want dammit *stomps foot like a three year old* 

Now. . . Again . . . I WAS DEPRESSED. Alone. Lost and downtrodden. In the lowest of lows I was, having nothing else to lose in my chemically imbalances, two polar, melodramatic brain. 

So I decided to write. I decided that I’d give my greatest dream and lifelong goal of being an author a real and honest shot. 

Of course, the real conversation that happened was “Well, it can’t suck any worse than this. Sure.” 

Alas. An author was born in January 2019. 

And that my friends was the start of 10 hour days, 10,000 word weekends, and book after book. 

Losing Myself in The Art, but Kind of Loving It

It was history. I was history. I sucked in the role of the author, the persona, the job and I didn’t look back.

Well, not until recently anyways when the cloud of depression finally lifted, school ended, and a paycheck was in my account every two weeks. Now, I had a choice. I could be the author. Or I could be someone different. 

The questioned bloomed around the little pebbles in my head- do I want to be an author or am I just scared of living. 

I was SHOOKETH. 

My identity for four years was collapsing. I was like a deer in headlights.

Do I want to be a writer?

Well, DUH or I wouldn’t be here. Of course, I did learn that I was hiding in my writing. It’s easy to fall in love with your characters, their flaws and their failures— it’s a lot harder to do in real life.

It’s easy to tackle change and control your characters— not so easy to do in real life.

If course these little twat characters have a mind of their own, I’ll tell you that.

Point is, I was living my wildest fantasies on the page, in my books, and in my own little universe, completely missing out of the fact that wild adventures were waiting for me out of my house. Off that little stool and out of the glow of my most prized laptop.  

I’ll tell you on thing, I never really got that real 8-5 work is hard. It’s forty hours a week and two days of freedom. Freedom that only lasts 48 hours (if that). 

So what am I going to do with those 48 hours? 

It’s not writing, I’ll tell you that.

It’s living a life. A real one. A good one.

And I’m taking you all along with me. 

Click here to read my first adventure!

Aight my peeps. Stay saucy. Stay adventurous.