My friend Lam was excited that I’d finally written and ready to post a new piece. Shit, I was too.
When I told my buddies I was finally ready to post a couple of days ago, I felt… solace. Kelen has been committed to writing regularly on his blog (http://hyphenuniverse.com/) recently and I started getting the urge to write again. I’d been developing idea and concepts over the last couple of weeks but things were falling short. However, I finally got idea that I wrote out in one sitting: it was the sign I was ready.
Though I wondered, in a moment of questioning myself, was my writing enjoyable? Not if a reader would agree or be entertained by my writing but if it was fulfilling to me. In the moment, I wasn’t really sure the answer and that lead me to thinking about my history with writing.
No. This isn’t the end of my blog, Kelen, but it is important to wonder about the curiosities of the universe. And I want to question, is writing fun?
Tuesday, I finally posted for the first time since the turn of the year. And writing it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t a choir nor was the piece laborious but… it wasn’t fun. I wondered if that was a bad thing or not.
Looking back at my life, I’ve always loved writing, even if there points when I wasn’t particularly any good at it. When I was a kid, and heavily influenced by Master P, I would write movie scripts about ghetto adventures about me and my classmates in hopes that it would make the silver screen one day. Before and after school, me and my cousin would write scripts thinking we were Percy Miller and his brother Silkk The Shocker. (He even owned a No Limit gold chain. The 90’s were a ride, man.)
I remember one day, my cousin was excited to tell me about a scene in his movie where a character was going through a burger joint drive-thru, talking to a person about a drug deal gone bad and blowing the fast food server away in a brazen robbery. I wrote a story about steamy, torrid love affairs between me and my friends. It was the kinda of stuff that you would only find on Skinemax at 1 in the morning. We were both only in middle school. Through my mind’s eye, I can still see that beat up, purple composition book as clear as day, tagged up with random drawings and all my friend’s names.
Those times actually were fun. Oh, and the times I would write terrible poetry and give it to the girls I was interested in were fun too. Bless their beautiful little hearts but I put my soul into the absurd sometimes and they accepted me nonetheless.
I think the point where writing stopped being fun is when I began to journal, around my second year of college. I wasn’t writing very much for outside consumption anymore; I was fighting depression and loneliness. Pages upon pages of what my world was and how I had no idea how to escape it or adjust. Those bouts of journaling lasted off and on from 2005 up until now. It’s always been a way of processing grief and trying to develop an understanding of things that give me anxiety. For a time, journaling is a reprieve, even if it’s temporary.
In 2016, I was journaling so much that I was only writing to exercise pain but never for pleasure. That, actually, led to the creation of this blog. I didn’t want to writing about hurting anymore; I wanted something productive. That’s why I wrote My 1st Song. I didn’t know what I was doing or who would read it but I put it out for the public.
I’ll be frank: making this blog has been one of the things I’m proudest of. I wanted to create, so I did. I thoughtfully developed ideas (though, sometimes, poorly edited), spoke my truth and even got my friends involved in the process (I’ll love them forever for that). I’m not sure where this writing is leading me but it’s rewarding. Last year, life happened in a big way and cause my writing to waiver but I’m gonna keep trying. Looking back I’m proud that I posted every month between October 2016 and March 2018. I never imagined I even get that far.
Battling depression and anxiety aren’t easy foes but I’m taking life as it comes. And writing yesterday for the first time since last August feels like a victory.
So, is writing fun? Sometimes. Is it hard? Sometimes. Is it fulfilling? Always. The joy isn’t in the process but in the completion. I’m not sure how often I’ll be back but I will be back. I’ll still treat everything like it’s my first song.