More than ever in the past few months I’ve felt that I’ve labeled myself a writer. I have a fairly established freelance career, at least with my former employer. I write for magazines; I write here and on ParentLife; I’m pretty sure that makes me a writer. Not to mention, in my deepest core I know that writing is my passion that intersects with God’s work.
It’s my sacrifice of praise.
But lately, it’s all garbled. I’ve tried to write about blogging. I’ve tried to write about His Word. I’ve tried to write about my kids. And it all comes out confusing and confused.
I write so little that I don’t publish, you might be surprised to discover. I am not a write and edit for hours person. I write; I proofread; I publish. Generally this takes me an hour or so, maybe. Maybe 20 minutes.
Thus what you get here is my natural writing voice, not something carefully constructed with diction and proper punctuation. And when my voice fails to be clear?
I don’t know what to do. I feel a little lost. I will try and edit … but if it didn’t work the first time, it’s rare that I can form it into something that makes sense.
I, of course, have some deep concerns what this might be telling me. Ones I don’t really want to face.
Well. Always interesting to see what comes out in five minutes. I don’t think it’s a mistake that the song playing on my random Spotify “radio channel” right now is “Let Go” by Matt Hammitt (from an album I am obsessed with currently).