I’m back from a mini-break to Namibia and then Easter with my in-laws, and while I was away I did not a jot of writing. But I did do lots of thinking about writing. In fact, I’m pretty desperate to chronicle my trip in typed words.
I think that writing helps me to crystallise the random thoughts flitting through my head into some sort of order. It also gives me something concrete to look back to, when I want to remember the holiday and how I felt at the time, what we saw, experiences we had. It also inspires my other writing. Yes, I find that often my unpaid, heartfelt scribblings that seem to gush forth onto my screen with so much more ease that my commissioned work are the inspiration I need to do the tougher jobs.
I’ve tried to explain this to myself before and I honestly believe that amid the deadline-driven client-orientated work that makes up the majority of my days, I sometimes lose the magic of writing. I forget why I love it. I lose the urge to write and forget the way that words can come together so beautifully to express a thought, a feeling or an experience.
When I take the time to just sit down and write for myself, I feel refreshed. Once I’m done letting the words tumble out, without questioning whether the grammar is perfect or if a client will agree with a particular term, I am reminded why I love what I do. And I’m ready to tackle my writing jobs with relish again.
This also provides me with a very good reason to take a holiday once in awhile!