By Mackenzie Davis
I’ve fallen into a slump recently and I know how to get out of it, but I won’t. For two weeks now everytime I open up my computer to write, I stare at an empty page and watch the blinking cursor mock me. This is how it goes in my head.
Blink: You have nothing valuable to say.
Blink: You’re not a writer.
Blink: Why would you even try?
For two weeks I have been in a slump, trying to write something that feels meaningful and I won’t allow myself to do it. I try to retrace my steps as if I have lost something but the object rests in the folds of my self-consciousness.
I remember the first time writing made me feel free. I was in third grade and my teacher Mr. Williams had all the students write personal narratives. I chose to write about the snow. How it looked and felt as it swirled to the ground…at least something along those lines. I was really proud of this piece. It was the first time I had accomplished something that felt like it was a part of me. Mr. Williams ended up reading it to the class and as a third grader, I had never felt more joy.
I took that moment and held it in my heart, and then I stopped writing. I don’t think it was a conscious decision at the time and as I moved on to high school and I had the opportunity to join the school newspaper, I passed. I would sit in my room and write for myself, stories that no one would ever see.
It wasn’t until my sophomore year of college that I decided to start writing again.
I joined the school newspaper and it reawakened the little girl who had written the piece about snow and the joy she felt. Mostly what I loved about it was the depth of which you could connect with people in such a short amount of time and being the stepping stone of letting these people be seen and heard. It filled my heart. One night in the middle of the semester I felt the inspiration to write a personal story that focused on themes that I really cared about. I also was then asked to read the story to the class and it was entered into the Michigan Press Association contest and won first place in its category. I was shocked. I had never received that type of validation from something I loved in my life and here my little story about a tree gave that to me. I was on cloud nine. I was so happy. I felt for the first time that my life had more purpose.
That was when I decided to stop writing.
I could share with you all the excuses I had in my head and they would probably go on forever. I was transferring schools, I didn’t have enough time, I needed to pursue my career in biology, blah blah blah. All of these did not address the real feeling I had at the time, which was fear.
So just like I had as a third grader, I held that moment of joy in my heart and moved on to other things. I went to Grand Valley State University, took my biology classes, got excited about the subjects we were learning and I lost my purpose.
I was sad and I didn’t know why. I wasn’t doing what I loved. Outside pressures of people telling me what to do impacted my decisions but finally, I came back. When I made the decision to take the semester off and come back to Grand Rapids Community College for a writing class, I thought I had faced my fear. I thought I had nothing else to battle. I had been through the thicket.
I started off running. Writing previews, covering events, writing about politics. I started to feel the exhaustion with every piece that I wrote. It was rewarding but I cared so much about messing up or being judged that every piece was a boulder I had to lift and then move. I kept going and my next idea was set. A satire on the handmaid’s tale in relation to the recent changes in our government. I did some background, thought about how I wanted the story to turn out, sat down at my computer and just stared at it. That’s when my cursor started talking to me.
Blink: You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Blink: You will never make a career out of this.
Blink: You are not good enough.
As I sat staring at this blank page I finally had come face to face with my monster. The fear of rejection of doing something I loved took over me and I couldn’t be bullied by the blank page anymore. For two weeks I avoided my computer. I fell into a slump and I couldn’t bring myself to write anything. I would start off with a sentence and then delete it over and over again. I didn’t think I could do it, so why would I injure myself in the process of trying to battle my demons?
I left for vacation to visit my friend. She had just returned from a semester in Spain pursuing her dreams and we got onto the topic of what we imagined ourselves doing in the future. My first answer without hesitation was that I wanted to write. I didn’t have time to think about the what-ifs when I responded. Whether I would make money, if I could find a job, or if I could actually touch people’s hearts. Without any of those fears my immediate answer, which had been sitting there all along, was that I just wanted to write.
It was then that I realized I would have to return to my blank screen, my biggest fear and my worst enemy: myself. One thing that gave me hope was that through all my insecurities and my what-ifs, there was a truth that stayed in the bottom of my heart. My cursor’s harsh words might never go away. I could possibly have to listen to the bully of a blank page for the rest of my life but I know that if I were to walk away I would just come right back. I know what I must do to pull myself from the slump, to defeat my demons so I can do what I love. I hope that someday I can get to a point where I can write a story and not feel exhausted by my insecurities or not feel burnt out from a story I really care about, but until that day comes I’ll just keep writing.
