{"id":11709,"date":"2017-02-26T14:34:47","date_gmt":"2017-02-26T19:34:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/kimberlypearl.co\/blog\/?p=11709"},"modified":"2021-07-17T15:30:08","modified_gmt":"2021-07-17T22:30:08","slug":"im-not-writer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kimberlypearl.co\/blog\/im-not-writer\/","title":{"rendered":"I’m Not A Writer"},"content":{"rendered":"

I finished stoning my costume<\/a>\u2014which means I’m back and it’s\u00a0time for tea.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"book<\/p>\n

I finally realized why I’m feeling so stuck:\u00a0I’m not a writer anymore<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

And that’s just a small part of it. I don’t create. I haven’t in years; I don’t write (for ABC<\/span><\/a>, for potential publication, and more importantly, for self). I don’t paint, draw, collage\u2014fuck.<\/em> I don’t even take pride in putting together outfits<\/span><\/a> anymore. I don’t read, not\u00a0really<\/em>, actually (the occasional op-ed piece or audiobook doesn’t count). I don’t binge-research random topics I have the sudden urge to learn about. My MO, as early as I can remember, has always been to read, analyze, and react. I have the boxes of notebooks to prove it: I’m in my parents’ home, flipping through the boxes of notebooks I have on everything, from types of foxes and gemstones to meanings of crystals to the Cultural Revolution and thoughts on the Patriot Act.)<\/p>\n

I consumed tirelessly and created endlessly.<\/p>\n

And now, the closest I come to it is writing copy. Which I love, don’t get me wrong: Finding what makes people’s hearts flutter and creating the perfect message to trigger it\u00a0is an art form,\u00a0but it’s not from the soul. Am I proud of the work I produce? Without a doubt. But it’s not\u00a0really<\/em> mine\u2014and what I’m beginning to realize is that this feeling of discontent and stagnancy lingers because I’ve stopped creating.<\/p>\n

I miss the 16-year-old girl who woke up at four in the morning to make a cup of cappuccino, tiptoe into the basement, and blog. I’d write and research\u00a0and write until I had to leave for school the next morning, and spend every minute between classes reading Joan Didion or Ana\u00efs\u00a0Nin.<\/p>\n

Where is she?<\/p>\n

I can tell you what happened: there was college, there was my career, and there was real life, quarter-life-crisis stuff going on. So I stopped writing, I stopped reading, I stopped consuming, and creating no longer became a priority.<\/p>\n

But I need to create to feel content again. Today was the first in a long time when I felt the drive to. I was up at four again, popped a K-cup into a Keurig, and just started typing. It felt right. Like I was home again, me<\/em> again. And this\u2014this awkward jumble of thoughts, a stream of consciousness if you will\u2014is one of the things that was by me, for me.<\/p>\n

So excuse the inevitable typos and imperfect grammar. I’m finding my voice again.<\/p>\n

. \u00a0 . \u00a0 .<\/p>\n

xx<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I finished stoning my costume\u2014which means I’m back and it’s\u00a0time for tea. I finally realized why I’m feeling so stuck:\u00a0I’m not a writer anymore. And that’s just a small part of it. I don’t create. I haven’t in years; I don’t write (for ABC, for potential publication, and more importantly, for self). I don’t paint, draw, collage\u2014fuck. I don’t even take pride in putting together outfits anymore. I don’t read, not\u00a0really, actually (the occasional op-ed piece or audiobook doesn’t count). I don’t binge-research random topics I have the sudden urge to learn about. My MO, as early as I can remember, has always been to read, analyze, and react. I have the boxes of notebooks to prove it: I’m in my parents’ home, flipping through the boxes of notebooks I have on everything, from types of foxes and gemstones to meanings of crystals to the Cultural Revolution and thoughts on the Patriot Act.) I consumed tirelessly and created endlessly. 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Am…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"full-width-content","_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[19],"tags":[366],"class_list":["post-11709","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","category-kims-diary","tag-diary","entry","has-post-thumbnail"],"yoast_head":"\nI'm Not A Writer • Soft Sensibilities<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/kimberlypearl.co\/blog\/im-not-writer\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"I'm Not A Writer • Soft Sensibilities\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"I finished stoning my costume\u2014which means I’m back and it’s\u00a0time for tea. 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