I’ve been up for two hours writing and, I’m not going to lie it’s been freaking, want-to-throw-my-computer-across-the-room, painful. 500 words later (a quarter of my writing speed) and I fear I’ve lost my voice.

I went back and read some of my old academic writing. I had a very strong voice then. But it just made me sad because I miss writing that way and sometimes I think I forget how and wonder if there is even an audience for it now that I’ve left academia. …And I miss reading ethnographies so that needs to change.

Then I went back and read some of my old creative writing. I had a strong voice then too but I have a different one now.

And I wonder what social media has done to my writing? This post is easy (took me ten minutes) compared to this memoir I’m trying to write.

…and maybe it’s just that, in order to write this memoir, no matter which door I open, there are stories I don’t want to tell. Don’t want to see. Don’t want to live again.

I will say that Stacy has been amazing this morning. As I’ve sighed deeply, grumbled, and slammed the computer shut she’s encouraged me from every angle.

She’s said: read more ethnography, translate what you know into different contexts, write more poetry, share your story, don’t worry about what other people will think. She even made us breakfast when it’s my job (I don’t cook much so that was really kind).

So, this is me today. Desperately wanting to open the door to my writing again and realizing I’m terribly out of shape.

Anyone else ever feel this way when they’re trying to create? Let’s all give each other virtual hugs!

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