I have to admit that I’m feeling a bit dizzy. This WordPress dashboard is incredibly familiar, but I haven’t seen it in about eight months. Talk about a déjà vu experience.
This poor blog has been sitting in hopeless neglect, gathering dust, as I’ve gone off on my own merry way, a life trajectory completely different from that which I envisioned for myself at the zenith of my blogging here. And yet here I am, back to a somewhat hauntingly familiar place. In the past hour or so, I have finished reading Andrew Shaffer’s fascinating biographical work Literary Rogues, turned in a miniature research paper on the traditional art of the Haida people, and scrolled through pages and pages of this blog. Just in case anyone is still paying attention, I felt the need to say “Yes, hello? I am still alive, in case I was worrying anybody.”
The last time most–or probably, all–of you heard from me, I was tackling my first ever NaNoWriMo. As far as records show, I dropped off the face of the Internet early on in the month. I never did finish that novel, and I don’t plan to. Frankly, I stopped writing.
What have I been doing with myself, then? I’ve been dabbling in other art forms. I’ve been consuming and analyzing media. I’ve maintained straight A-plus-es in school and something that I suppose one could dub a social life. I decided I wasn’t a writer after all and that I was going to devote my life to the classics. Or medicine, or law. Or archaeology. Linguistics? No, nuclear physics. All right, I admit freely that I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Turning sixteen didn’t bring any clarity to the situation. What it did do was make me start writing poetry predominantly instead of prose. It made me reconsider myself, my beliefs, my preferences, my very identity. I’m nowhere closer to figuring myself out than I’ve ever been, but at least I’m on the path.
Now, at this moment, my interest in writing both prose and poetry is growing stronger. It’s less of a zealous desire to be the next Christopher Paolini as a need to see words produced on paper or screen that I can truly call my own. Five-paragraph essays and structured research papers don’t count. I’ve been maintaining my nightly journal on a four-year streak now, I’ve been trying to write at least one poem per week, and I’m even starting to toy with the idea of–oh, horror of horrors–trying for another novel this summer. I’ll be working a 25-hour week, but I’m pretty sure that if I want to write a novel in my free time, I can.
Reading through my own old posts has brought some truly cringe-worthy moments. Second-hand embarrassment is even worse when your past self is the outside party in question. On the other hand, this foray through my past public writings has made me remember just how fun blogging in this form can be. (I specify “this form” because I have in no way abandoned my beloved microblogging during this unintentional hiatus.) Maybe I’ll get back to it. It’s unlikely that I’d be on this blog specifically, or writing about the same things, but rest assured that I am seriously considering giving my presence here a second chance, after an intense makeover.
That’s more than enough about me, though. Are any of my old friends still in the loop? How have you been, and what major events have I missed? I’m hoping that nothing WWIII-esque has transpired in my absence, but if so, I’ll just have to dig through some archives and get with the times.