I’m reading Quitter by Jon Acuff (you can find him here) – and he has a section about hinge moments.
I decided I would write about one of my hinge moments. My mom always encouraged me to write. I used to write book reports for school every year, and she had me pursue several creative writing avenues.
I remember filling up my maroon notebook with poems and short stories. I still have that notebook. When I decided to start writing again, at the end of December, it was a short-sighted, blog regularly for thirty days goal. When I almost died a few days later, I hit that goal full force and blogged regularly for almost 5 months. Now, I am struggling with some “my writing well is dry,” “I’ve got nothing new to say,” “Somebody else has already said that,” and “why bother.” I have been busy writing a book, and as I am undergoing another huge change in the story, I’m trying to decide if I’m over-thinking, or truly improving. I’m beginning to wonder why I should keep pressing into this. It’s getting a lot harder to write something worthwhile. It takes me more time, more thought and more effort. I’m not being disciplined like I should with my time. I’m giving in to the temptation to stalk Facebook like a boyfriend that I wasn’t ready to break it off with. I lurk, for hours, hoping for some small scrap of something to feed on. It dawned on me today, that my life was fine before Facebook, and it will be fine without Facebook. Or at least, without compulsive, every ten-minute, for an hour, checks of Facebook.
Another hinge moment for me, spans over much of my life – when I can’t seem to cope any more, I have to write. I find some form of writing for an outlet. I’ve done everything from write in a diary, to keep a journal, to blog, to finding forums where I can post lengthy bits of information. I’ve even gotten wrapped up in text-only role-play games (generally medieval ones, always something where my characters have a huge dilemma to face and conflict to resolve). I have figured out that writing helps me process information, helps me work through conflict, uncovers my voice, and reveals my opinion to me.
I am a writer. I will no longer deny that or hide from it. I am afraid, at times, to admit it – because I don’t want anyone to tell me I’m not, or that I can’t. Yet, no matter what, I am a writer.
Do you have hinge moments, that helped you recover who you were? That you can look back on and help you realize your calling, your dream?