Stumbled is exactly what I did, an action that takes you by surprise, jolts you out of the expected like sudden flashes of light and loud popping sounds of a metal fork left in the dish you were heating up in the microwave, (yeah that happens to people) and almost always causes you to fall down completely or if you’re quick, you can catch yourself just as you’re about to do a classic face plant on the ground.
My writing definitely benefited from such a clumsy accident, although it had been a while since I’ve written anything substantial, something worth writing about. I’ve been in a world of business plans and proposals. So to get back into creative writing has been on my mind for a couple of years, however, something was holding me back, and I felt trapped, stuck and lost. I would sit at my computer or journal and stare. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to write, as soon as I would sit down and begin to process a single thought it wasn’t long before I was lost in a state of preoccupation. I would stare for so long that my vision became blurry and my mind seemed to be lost in this hazy state that when I finally broke free of it I wasn’t really sure what I was thinking about and how long it had been going on. I found myself to be in that type of trance so often that I began to find it comforting, which is not the place for any writer to be in.
I had support for sure, my husband could spout off ideas left right and center, but nothing spoke to me, nothing came to me. What was holding me back? It would be easy to say anything and everything was. I could tell you one excuse after another. There’s no time, I’m too busy, too tired from work, I want to relax, there’s this really great show on T.V, or my most common excuse was that there was nowhere for me to be creative. I had no space to call my own, nowhere that I could sit and write and be inspired. I’m not one of those writers who can sit in a coffee shop like Starbucks and write; though it would be a good idea since people watching is absolutely fascinating.
My problem was really that I lacked the motivation to find somewhere to be creative, to search out the place, time and conviction to really sit down, let go and just write. Then another problem assisted me in my long list of excuses; there was no forum in which I could express this written word, once I actually wrote something. Who was going to read it and how could it help me to improve and grow as a writer? This question was a big road block and a perfect aid to my laziness. A laziness that began to weigh me down, I could feel the heaviness in my fingers and my brain as I sluggishly attempted to force my muscles to move the pen or type a word on the computer.
Time passed, and the irritating itch to write kept lingering underneath my skin like a perpetual mosquito bite. One that you constantly have to itch and itch, and no matter how much cream or after bite you put on it, the itch remains until one day it’s just gone. The wonderful relief of that itch had come. The day that the weight, the laziness and tiresome list of excuses had just vanished and I could sit down and actually write; there was no blurred vision, loss of time in an unproductive trance. There seemed to be clarity to my renewed sense of creativity and a motivation to write that I hadn’t felt in years. I owe this powerful change to the day that I stumbled across the Writing.com website.
Although finding Writing.Com didn’t result in an actual facial contorted face plant, it did jolt me out of my normal routine and opened me up to a whole new world of writers, tools to help me improve and a complete support system that was not only comforting but motivating as well. I finally found a forum in which I can express myself, and to grow and challenge myself as a writer.
I had checked out other online websites for writing or writers, but those websites seemed stale, unapproachable and rigid. They didn’t seem to have an easy going, come on in, we’re here to help attitude. I knew that my writing would never excel in this type of community. WDC was not only appealing but inviting. I felt immediately welcomed like a golden door finally opening up and on the other side of that door are writing angels; it was a hallelujah moment with my arms extended up into the air, hands reaching for the sky, head thrown back and mouth open to praise the writing gods for listening to my prayers.
I’m thankful for the day that I stumbled onto something greater than myself, something that finally gives me the freedom to write and meet other writers. Who knew that stumbling could be such a wonderful action.