entry number one.
Sep. 22nd, 2009 12:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lostdetectiveGod damn, I've been empty. This is another desperate attempt to get some sort of writing routine going; something, anything. Better than nothing? I suppose that this is somewhat nicely reminiscent of the days when I actually WAS creating in the sense that I've been putting off a shower all morning just to throw this thing together.
We'll see how long this lasts.
Dreamwidth: livejournal for artists? I'm very okay with this. I know what's been missing from my writing endeavors, and it's community. At Metro Arts, I was surrounded by people eager to create and share and discuss and work and encourage... then I moved to the Bay Area, started working full-time, threw all of my pre-Californian poetry into a self-published collection to "start new," and never got started. I have about 3 crappy poems I spit out angrily one night after having too much coffee and a brand new typewriter and an argument with the boyfriend. In two years. Maybe there's some random bits and pieces floating around that I've written on the back of paycheck stubs or in margins of day planners, but really? Nothing I would ever want to recreate, share, discuss, work on, or encourage to continue.
My therapist says I need to learn to just create without judgment. I need to get shit out and just let it exist, without my internal critic getting in the way. I need to seriously just let things BE.
This is another desperate attempt.
We'll see how long this lasts.
My name is Kayla, and I write. I think.
We'll see how long this lasts.
Dreamwidth: livejournal for artists? I'm very okay with this. I know what's been missing from my writing endeavors, and it's community. At Metro Arts, I was surrounded by people eager to create and share and discuss and work and encourage... then I moved to the Bay Area, started working full-time, threw all of my pre-Californian poetry into a self-published collection to "start new," and never got started. I have about 3 crappy poems I spit out angrily one night after having too much coffee and a brand new typewriter and an argument with the boyfriend. In two years. Maybe there's some random bits and pieces floating around that I've written on the back of paycheck stubs or in margins of day planners, but really? Nothing I would ever want to recreate, share, discuss, work on, or encourage to continue.
My therapist says I need to learn to just create without judgment. I need to get shit out and just let it exist, without my internal critic getting in the way. I need to seriously just let things BE.
This is another desperate attempt.
We'll see how long this lasts.
My name is Kayla, and I write. I think.