Feeling Really Lost

Lately I have had some major writers block.

A lot of what I do at my day job revolves around creativity in writing, graphic art and brainstorming new unique ideas. As my job demands more of my brain I find my myself unable to accomplish all I want to do with my blogging.

I never want blogging to become a job, or something I feel guilty about walking away from for a few days. Unfortunately my inner nature does not allow me to avoid this guilt so when I missed my first Sephora Saturday post last week I have felt miserable ever since.

This week my effort outside of work has been to keep moving on a story I started called Call Me Ishmael. This story developed from a Daily Prompt and has become a real creative outlet for me. After getting some really useful feedback from Izzy Grabs Life I have felt compelled to write more and write better. I want to be deserving of the time and effort other bloggers have put into reading my posts and writing comments to help me grow as a writer.

If you have experienced this same writers block please let me know how you’ve handled it. Are there any particular tricks to getting the creative juices flowing when they have basically run dry?

Thanks so much for all the feedback, I appreciate all the comments, as each one helps me become a better blogger.

Call Me Ishmael Part 1
Call Me Ishmael Part 2

Shiny Copper Penny from 2008

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Buffalo Nickel.”

“What was I doing in 2008?” I thought after actually finding a penny that was minted after I was born.

It took .5 seconds for me to feel ridiculous because at 25 years old 2008 happened to be one of the most important and transitional years of my life.

In March my fiance and I got engaged. It was his sophomore and my freshman year and we had been together for 3 years (and will be celebrating 10 years this March). We still aren’t married mostly because we were focused on our educations and careers and partly because weddings are expensive.

That summer we both spent ninety percent of our time at the baseball stadium we worked at. Our days consisted of inventory, receiving concession stand food, and cleaning. Our nights were spent running concession stands full of teenagers who were selling overpriced popcorn and soda. We made a lot of money and we had a lot of fun. It was out last season working for the Sea Dogs and as much as we enjoyed ourselves we wouldn’t go back.

In September we officially moved out of our parents homes in Maine and into an apartment together in Boston where we both went to college. We adopted a cute kitten and named him Nelson. My mother moved from Maine to Long Island NY to move in with her now husband.

The first few months living together were tough but we bought an air conditioner and we got through it. We became best friends with Billy and now he is like family.

Thank you Daily Post for reminding me of an important time in my life.

Call Me Ishmael | Part 2

His silent departure no longer bothered me like it used to. The first time he appeared in my room did startle me and it took about two weeks and a few visits to a therapist to convince myself I wasn’t crazy. I turn back to the stack of cardboard boxes and resign myself to a day of unpacking.
My move to London about a month ago had been surprisingly smooth for a last minute decision. My family did not take the news well but they understood. My mother had been the first and only person, besides the therapist, that I told about seeing him again. It was my mothers idea that I seek the help of a therapist first and then when I found out about the dream marketing job that could take me across the Atlantic ocean and away from all my memories of him it was her who told me to go. I think she thought that I could leave him behind and I did for about a week and then he showed up again in my new apartment and I decided to stop running. His presence had become comforting even though I knew it was unhealthy.
The unpacking took the rest of the day and he didn’t come back until I returned from bring the boxes down to the recycling. He was sitting on my couch staring at the wall so I walked over and sat next to him without saying anything. We just sat there both staring at the wall, neither of us talking, neither of us needing to as we both just found comfort in the silence together. My stomach growling is what eventually broke the quiet and I got up to fix myself a sandwich in the kitchen.
“It is so strange never being hungry.” he says as I close the refrigerator. He has moved from his position on the couch to a stool at my kitchen island.
“I wish I knew what that felt like. I would be a lot skinnier.” I say trying to lighten his mood.
“You don’t need to be any skinnier you are beyond beautiful just the way you are. Besides you have lost weight this past month. I suppose that is my fault. You always forget to eat when I am around.” as I come around the counter and take the empty seat next to him. He turns so we are facing each other and smiles at my sandwich.
“Peanut butter & jelly?” He says with a smirk.
“Hey,” I say with a frown “ I haven’t had time to grocery shop and I only have this cause mom sent it from the states.”
He doesn’t say anything and continues to sit silently next to me as I force down the sandwich and a glass of water. Once I finish I clean the dishes and put them away. He follows me around the house as I get ready for bed. Tomorrow is Monday which means back to work so I take extra time setting out my outfit and organizing my bag. The firm I work for is full of young professionals, almost all from the UK and so I find myself attempting to blend in with them as much as possible. This means putting extra thought into my clothes and accessories so that I don’t scream American.
“You are working tomorrow?” he asks.
“Yes.” I say and see him frown.
I change into my pajamas and climb into bed, turning off the bedside lamp. He is barely visible in the dark laying atop the covers so I turn to lay on my side facing him. He reaches over and pulls the comforter up to cover my shoulder.
“Don’t go.” I say fighting to keep my eyes open.
He reaches out and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. I lean forward into his touch instinctively moving my hand up and over to where his chest should be and feel the top of my quilted comforter. I open my eyes and he’s gone.

If you like this post be sure to check out the Daily prompt post that started it all here “DAILY PROMPT | Call Me Ishmael” and be sure to follow Lost Girl if you want to continue the story.

Two Right Feet

Typically when I wake up in the morning the first thing I do after using the restroom is check my phone for notifications from social feeds. This has become a habit and while I do not really think it adds anything to the quality of my day it does throw me off balance if I am too busy or forget to check them before heading to work.

This week for instance I have been so busy at work I have not been able to participate in Blogging 101 as much as I would like. It has made me feel totally behind, confused and uninspired to write. Just writing this post now is giving me anxiety. But I am forcing myself through it to get back into the groove.

I have missed this community for the past few days so I will be doing my best to keep up. Staying engaged in the group helps motivate and inspire me. It has made me feel better than I have in a long time so I will not let myself get behind again.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Two Right Feet.”