In the beginning there was nothing

I was a good writer once. In fact, I might have even been a pretty great writer, given the right circumstances.

I used to love writing. I wrote short stories, poetry, articles, blogs. And then I just walked away. It's something I do, bounce around with hobbies. I did photography for a little while, danced in a cabaret, I even started a catering company.

I suppose it didn't seem like such a big deal at the time. I just stopped writing creatively. Writing wasn't a hobby, it was a calling. I still wrote all the time for my business. But I had hit a wall. I was writing a novel. I never wrote novels. I preferred short stories and I was struggling to keep myself moving. The breaks in between trying became longer and longer, as I explored other interests. One afternoon, I was sitting at lunch with my best friend and she said, "You know Erin, you quit everything you start. The one thing you have never given up on is food. You never stop talking about it."

And that was it, in that moment, I stopped thinking about writing as the thing I was always meant to do. I had found my passion, my true love and I kicked into high gear. I took classes, I experimented on weekends, I started a catering company on the side. I did well and it's true, I do love it. But it became a job. I love to cook for people, I hate cooking only for myself. But that joy I feel when people are appreciating my food was robbed by the constant exhaustion I felt standing in the kitchen for hours on end. The pressure to do great.

I stopped. Hell, I stopped cooking. And I only got that love back recently. Slowly, by not diving too deep. But it came back so quickly. Sure, I sort of spaced last week on the correct ration for making a roux and I felt a little dumb. But that love was there. Right where I left it.

But writing is not the same. I wrote less and less for work as I rose higher and higher and then I edited less and less as I shifted from Communications to Marketing. I still got to be creative, but it was more ideation. And I paired it with social media and promotional flyers, video scripting and other interesting but not quite me things. I missed writing so much. So I got back into it. And I suck. Like really suck. Writing sucks for me now. It hurts. It's painful and I feel like a failure. A trite talentless failure.

I found my great idea, a novel idea I love. And I do love it. Deeply. I don't want to do it poorly. And I'm out of work, which sucks but I should have all the time to write and be creative right?

Wrong. I'm a miss. I don't know what to do anymore. Do I want to continue in marketing? Go back to Communications? Do something more writing focused? Can I make enough money. What am I going to do.

"Start a blog." That's what my boyfriend said. If I wanted to write, and maybe move toward more writing in my career, just start writing. So that's what I'm doing. I'm writing anything that comes to me. I didn't want to do something like this. Writing about anything, everything? My struggles with writing, with finding my place in life, thoughts about pop culture, daily musings. It seems so unfocused. Lacks direction. But I guess...so do I?

So here I go. And I will resist going back through this and editing the shit out of it. Because this needs to be exactly what it is so I can be whatever I am. I think.