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| I've been given an offer to start writing for a small campus paper in Ottawa. They have absolute confidence that my writing skills are of sufficient quality. They are both poli-sci students, and are friends I met while working in Ottawa. They have never read anything I've written. Where do they get this from? It doesn't pay but I'm being given free reign to write about whatever politics suit my fancy. Now I've considered writing for some time, but I'm no academic. Should I decide to write, I probably wouldn't do it for them. My job requires me to condense vast political concepts into an easily digestible conversation with a stranger. I call my speech for greenpeace 'environmentalism 101' so to speak. I picture myself writing for the general public rather than undergrads. I haven't really resolved whether I want to write for this paper or not but I suppose the reason I write this morning is to feel it out again. I wonder if it still fits. Writing has been a huge part of my identity for ten years. Though it may have been mostly poetry, I once held the belief that my words wanted to be heard and that my ideas will be useful to the world somehow. My job lately has taken up most of my creative energy. Since arriving in Kingston I simply haven't felt the need as much. That is, I'd do the usual ranty dramatic whining about relationship stuff in my personal journal. That stuff is maybe for voyeurs, but little else. I've always enjoyed spoken word. The one time I went to a poetry slam, I felt the greatest urge to both stand down in awe, and to join their ranks. When I think about how I've fallen out of the habit of writing regularly, I feel disappointed. I can submit to the disappointment and stagnate, or I can suck it up and start somewhere. Please remind me to continue. | ||||||
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funkypeaches's journal
