On Writing...

So I've been gone for awhile. Okay, more than awhile. There are good reasons for that I assure you. Jin and I bought a house for one thing. We purchased our first home this past October and spent a couple of months renovating. Actually we're not done the renos, but we've slowed down an awful lot since the new year. This leads me to another good reason for the lax blogging, which is that we're expecting our first child this summer, a little boy!! Woohoo! We're both pretty stoked about all of that and life has been an awful lot of fun for the last little while.

The unfortunate drawback to all of this is that I haven't been blogging, nor have I been thesis writing. After a meeting with my supervisor this week I now know that I'm not going to be graduating this spring. Sigh. Oh well, not much to be done about that now. I can't say I'm not frustrated by the seemingly interminable delay with this bloody degree, but a lot of the fault is my own. Which brings me to the actual subject of this post. I need to write more.

I have discovered recently that writing is cathartic and meaningful to me, even if my writing is neither of those things to people who read it. I need self-expression to fight off the demons of frustration and doubt that seem to plague me. Cheery hey? So I'm trying to start writing again, and I'm trying to do it a lot and all at once. I'm writing here, I'm writing my thesis (sort of) and (please don't snicker here) I'm trying to write a little bit of this and that all on my own and all for myself. Don't worry, that last bit will almost certainly never see the light of day and you will consequently not be burdened to lie to me about how much you like my mediocre attempts at writing real prose.

Having said all of this there is still a problem. Writing is hard. It takes time and effort and the ability to tap that well of creativity from whence expression and meaning come. The last part is the hardest. I'm busy like everyone else and I'm tired too, but those aren't the things that have hindered my ability to express myself over the last few months. I've been away from the well. That's been the problem, and indeed is the problem still. But I'm back looking for it again, wandering around in the twisting labyrinth of my own mind, divining rod in hand. I haven't found that well yet. I'm sure I will, but I hope it happens soon. I'm getting very thirsty.