Greetings and Salutations

Here is a secret: I do not write unless there is a gun to my head.

I love to write. I’ve even been told I’m good at it. And yet, I don’t do it unless there are impending due dates. There was a time when I wasn’t good at it, when I wrote for the joy of it and because I felt like I had something to say that people wanted to hear. Three and a half years of college and at least a dozen papers later, I’ve become an accomplished but relunctant writer. I no longer really believe I have anything compelling to say, and it’s no longer something I see myself pursuing after graduation in May.

This blog is going up because it’s required for a class–we were told to create a blog and review the YA novels we read for class. There are neat scratches of black pen marking out dates on my calendar to ensure that I write them, bloodless required drabbles though they may be.

I am hoping, however, (because it is the month for doomed resolutions, because the birds rushed over a white sky cleaned by the rain as I watched this morning, because it is a new decade, and because I am drinking raspberry tea which makes me think that I can believe in myself) I am hoping that I will write more than what I have to just to fulfill those little boxes. Maybe I will review songs, poems, movies, and the color of the trees here in rural Mississippi as Spring seeps into the ground with the rain. Maybe I will post about the intricate and beautiful lives of my 23 houseplants (recently 24….RIP Finnigan).

Then again, maybe I will not.

I would like to love writing again. But to love something can be exhausting and for awhile I have felt starved for light. So we shall see. Maybe I will write; maybe I won’t. I am tired but trying so please don’t expect things of me. Maybe I’ll disappear into the woods for a year because if I’ve learned anything over my educational career it is that the trascendentalists had a real good point. Love those dudes.

Read or don’t, I trust that you shall be wise stewards of your time and accurate judges of what is worth ten minutes of it.

Sincerely,

AnEmotionalHouseplant