You Were Meant to Create Art
An update from a life in the artistic trenches of the 21st century.
This week, I actually sat down and wrote.
And I realized that it’s been around two years since I last had this much fun writing. I stayed up until midnight, putting in a few-thousand words between world building and actual scenes, and it felt glorious.
Those of you who are lucky enough to have an art in your life will understand: art gives purpose and meaning to existence. We are animals of creation; as fish are at home in the water, human beings are at home when involved in the act of building something new.
I’ve worked on my writing in phases in the last two years, including working on pieces for workshops. But I haven’t published any new fiction for a while, or even been particularly called to try to publish new fiction. Largely, that’s been due to the sudden onset of a whole new barrage of life: a second Master’s degree, massive changes to my job situations, and moving 3000 miles, to name a few. But I’ve missed that feeling of real immersion in the words.
I got into writing in a more serious way through National Novel Writing Month back when I was… what… 15? Sixteen? Writing was something I loved because the raw act of storytelling felt like play. Anything could become possible.
