I have a confession to make. My love for writing has grown cold. I don't know why. It's been an on again, off again relationship for a little while now. I'm wondering if this doesn't have something to do with all the ups and downs I've experienced in the last year-and-a-half.
Whatever the reason, I'm not happy about this. Not at all. It's like a personal relationship that has turned south. It stings. It hurts. I can't figure out why, when, where it all went wrong.
Writing has always been sort of like a love affair for me. Some of my favorite childhood memories are of writing moments. Creative writing contests. I used to love those. I remember one particular year, my first year in fact, of creative writing. All the students participating in creative writing challenges stayed after school some days for "practice." I remember some kids griping about staying late. Me...I loved it.
I remember the thrill of receiving each stapled stack of purple carbon-copied sheets on my desk. Sharpened pencil in hand, I'd study the picture and list of words, intent on using more than the 3-5 required words from the chosen list in my story. It was fun!
Fast forward to high school. I've told you before about my English teacher that required our class to keep a daily journal for a grade. Oh, how I hated that journal at first! I remember how painful it was to write those pages in the beginning. Then I made it fun by drawing and adding color to pages, and later, writing my first short story within those pages.
Somehow I've lost the fun part of writing. I need to find it again, ASAP.