On Falling Back in Love With Parts of Your Writing Identity

Melody of Rain - Michael Cheval (2015)

So, I've been sucking to high heaven at staying on top of my writing goals lately. Kind of, anyway. I still have plenty of time to put together some decent stuff, but I have yet to do more than brainstorm when it comes to my essays for Medium's big August writing contest. It's not like I haven't been plenty busy, though. 

I've had more work to do for clients than I've taken on in a while, but that's actually been strangely refreshing. Like a lot of creative people, I really crave variety in my work, so it's never a bad idea to switch things up once in a while. I've been pouring so much into my blogging and personal work lately that freelancing actually felt like a welcome departure from the norm instead of a grind I desperately need a break from. I talk a good game about leaving copywriting behind forever one day when (and if) I ever experience a big breakthrough with any of the rest of my writing. But I doubt I ever actually will. 

If I'm honest with myself, there are things I do like about it and will probably always like about it. Some part of me enjoys putting myself in the shoes of different audiences, educating others, and finding the right words to make a specific product or service sound inviting. Plus, I know some of the bigger writers in my circle have fallen madly in love with big-ticket private ghostwriting -- something to potentially consider if I ever make it to that level. There's always another level to move up to, it seems.

That said, let this be a reminder to any writer who thinks they've fallen out of love with any style of writing they once loved to produce. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so it's worth taking a little time away from something and coming back to it later regardless of how "done" you think you are with it. (That's how I rekindled my interest in creative writing months ago, as well.) In fact, I'm beginning to think writers never truly outgrow aspects of who they are and what they like to do with their words. 

On Discovering My Competitive Spirit

Untitled by Vincente Romero

So, I finally heard back about my application to Medium's new fellowship program. I did indeed get in, so once I receive my contract and get that all signed, I can expect a nice little minimum payment guarantee for August, September, and October. That's great because the more I can count on making through their platform every month, the more time I can actually justify spending over there. 

As always seems to be the case with every online platform, many writers have their gripes with Medium, but I've really been pretty happy with my experience so far. The type of writing I like to do is exactly the type of writing that does well there. I've been flexing my blogging muscles more often and can tell they're getting stronger, as I've been finding it easier to post really engaging content more frequently. And much to my surprise, I even seem to fit into the community there, and fitting in has never been something that came easily to me.

Medium also announced a big Vocal-style writing contest to close out the summer a few days ago. There are four prompts, four hefty cash prizes, an even heftier grand prize that will go out to one lucky writer, and a generous handful of smaller honorable mention payouts. I don't really kid myself that I will actually win anything, but I'm still looking forward to participating. The prompts are all totally my speed and sound like a blast to work with. Plus, you never know. Somebody wins those things.

Granted, it's taken me most of my life, but it's been nice to find things to do with my time and my talents that actually inspire a little healthy competitiveness in me. I was considered very gifted as a child and allegedly had a genius-level IQ, but I hated everything about it -- especially the way I was expected to enjoy competing with other kids for so-called honors that didn't mean anything to me. In some cases -- as with scholarships, apprenticeships, and opportunities to be shipped away to summer school in some other state -- I actively didn't want whatever the prize was. (Anything that added up to being ripped away from my home and being given a ton of extra work to do honestly felt more like a punishment than a reward.)

On Little House and Fading Memories

So, somehow Seth and I have become utterly obsessed with Little House on the Prairie lately. I recently signed us up for a Peacock subscription because it was the only place you could watch that Yellowstone show we thought might be cool. Then we get on there, don't actually watch Yellowstone, and start shooting this shit up on a nightly basis instead. I'm almost embarrassed to admit to how much of a blast I've been having, as I'm not sure I scan as much of a "good, clean family fun" kind of person to those who actually know me. 

I've never actually seen the show before, as it debuted two years before I was even born and went off the air before I was old enough to care much about TV shows that weren't also cartoons. I have read the Little House books multiple times throughout my life, including several times as a grown-ass adult, because I'm a kid at heart like that. Seth's been wanting to introduce me to this for a while for those reasons, as he knew I would like it.

Watching this brings back so many of the thoughts and feelings I used to have when I'd read the books as a little girl. They were a form of wish fulfillment for me for sure, especially regarding how I felt a family should look, behave, and treat one another. I wanted so badly for my parents to love each other the way Charles and Caroline did. And I wanted my brother and me to love and look out for each other the way the Ingalls sisters did. I remember relating strongly to Laura with how tomboyish she was, as well.