I’ve been working for about a month now and it is amazing. Busy, but amazing.
This is incredibly geeky of me, I know, but editing brings me great joy. I love reading over a piece and figuring out what works and what doesn’t. Catching each error – whether punctuation, spelling, or verb-tense agreement – is fun for me.
Some people do crossword puzzles. I look for extra commas.
Writing is a little trickier. Don’t get me wrong, I love writing. But when you’re frequently reading pieces with a critical eye, it can be hard to keep the pen moving.
I’m trying to take it all in stride, though. Lin-Manuel Miranda talks about writing the rust out, so I’m doing a lot of that. I mean, if it works for the creator of Hamilton, there has to be something to it.
I’m pretty sure my journal entries and random musings aren’t going to hit Broadway any time soon. But that’s not really the point. Writing for its own sake generates rewards that go far beyond the idle dreams of the writer. It strengthens the voice, allows stories to form and bloom in the mind, and it invigorates the imagination.
So I’m working at it. Daily dabbling with the pen to get my writer’s voice, my writer’s mind, back on track.
The greatest gift of all of this is, of course, that I’m playing with words – both as a profession and as a hobby. I think I forgot that writing is supposed to engage and entertain the writer as well. If I’m not interested in what I’m writing, no one else will be, either.
It’s good to be back.