Another post about why I never write

Another post about why I never write

I’ve always known that writing isn’t just an innate talent, it’s a skill that has to be practiced. But goddamn does it hurt to be reminded of that.

When I was a kid, words just came to me. I never had to make things happen cause they just did. I could knock out short stories, poetry, lyrics and think nothing of it. It would take mere days to fill a notebook or a disc — cause I’m old enough to have been saving things on floppy discs. Like most everything else in childhood, writing came easy to me, so I never learned how to do it.

I can write, as evidenced here, but I can’t really do it on command. I have to “feel like” writing. It has to be the right time, the right mood, and the right environment. I am trying to be more conscious of when I’m in that space, so I can do my best to recreate those circumstances when I’m not.

I wish writing came as effortlessly to me as it did when I was younger but I know it won’t. So I have to learn how to tap into that well when I need it and not just when I feel like it.


A black woman [she/her]. A lover of the internet. A listener. A reader. A viewer. A writer. An observer. An anomaly.

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