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I’ll admit, I’m tired.

The last couple of months have been a rollercoaster for me. I’ve celebrated my first wedding anniversary with my husband, taken two trips out of state (one was out of the country and the other was to the extreme opposite side of the country), battled an (ongoing) infestation of fleas that one of my cats brought in (thanks, Tiger Lily), seen the Frozen Broadway show and Lindsey Stirling in concert (the latter of which I’ve been wanting to do since high school), decided to renew the lease on my apartment, applied to some really awesome jobs, gotten about a million freelance job offers, and started the rewrite of my WIP Project Pea.

WHEW!

I feel like I’ve been through an entire year already in 2022. And after all of the things I just mentioned, I’ve also been trying my best to keep up with my blog and my chapter-by-chapter novella, The Chosen Two. With so much going on, I haven’t been able to keep on top of this “fun” side to my work as much as I’d like (and by “fun” I’m not being sarcastic, but separating my blog and the stories I post from the writing work I do for profit and publication – which are both also fun!).

That being said, I didn’t know what I was going to write when I sat down at my laptop today and fired up WordPress. I just felt tired. I have a million things to say about writing at any given time and a million stories just waiting to burst out of my imagination, but nothing came to me. The same thing happened to me when I tried to work on The Chosen Two earlier this week.

God, does anyone care? Does anyone even hear me?

These thoughts go through my head on an almost-daily basis, but my weariness only made that voice speak even louder than usual. I almost instantly realised the same truth that God has been trying to pound into my head for years: It’s not about me.

It’s weird how easily writing can become such a self-centred activity. The stories and blog posts we write are, by nature, for other people to read. And yet, we become so possessive of these ideas, these words, these characters, that suddenly it becomes all about me and what I want. It becomes about how how many people like what I say.

But the stories I write aren’t for me. They’re for you.

When I talk about crafting meaningful stories, it’s not just some random phrase I picked. Every word is packed full of meaning: “crafting” suggests making something carefully and intentionally; “meaningful” describes something that makes an impact, something that resonates; and “stories” are the backbone of the human race, the single word that encompasses the limitless bounds of our imaginations.

I wouldn’t craft meaningful stories if I only wrote them for myself. I craft meaningful stories to add a bit of joy, a bit of colour, a bit of love, a bit of excitement to the lives of people like you. Yeah you, reading this right now. I write stories that matter because I don’t want to throw out careless words; I want to make a difference with them.

Maybe I still don’t know what this blog post is about, but I know that these words aren’t for me. My hope is that you always remember why you write above all else. Because while yes, it’s important to love what you write, and yes, it’s crucial to take care of yourself (especially by taking breaks), ultimately, we’re doing this because we believe we can create magic in a magic-less world with the words that we write.

Have a great weekend, everyone, and happy writing!

-E.J.

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