Write Something
My friend told me to write something. I was like, haha. ok…but seriously what am I going to write about.
I’m from Ottumwa, Iowa (a city this site keeps autocorrecting), and I’m an actor in Los Angeles. Honestly, I’m not even sure what I’m doing or where I’m going or if I’m even happy here on this alien planet (seriously the plants here are insane). The other day there was a nice guy sitting next to me on the train, and then I noticed he was just a little dirty, and then I noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes, and then I noticed he was talking to his shoulder, and then I was very uncomfortable. But literally that’s all I got. Just a endless string of uncomfortable moments. Seriously, what am I going to write about?
Yeah, I have countless journal entries and a number of half-written scripts and beginning ideas for screenplays. But nothing has struck me enough to keep me writing it, and is any of it really worth saying? If I’m already bored with it, I’m pretty sure that’s not a good sign.
My relationship with writing has been…rocky. Though I’m pretty sure that’s how it starts out for everyone. I wrote some really deep poetry in high school, some really emotional songs in college with a little bit of poetry sprinkled in there (these were 100% terrible), and a shit ton of depressing journal entries. Angst to the max.
A couple years out of school, I started doing slam poetry. I thought I was a bad ass, but let’s just say I’m glad that period has gradually faded away-there was way too much rhyming. And, though I did get better than I was before, I was initially the worst writer I’ve ever read. Really really. Now I’m pretty mediocre. So there you have it, there’s hope.
It wasn’t until last fall, when I joined a solo performance group, that I actually started to enjoy writing. This group requires you to write personal stories that have actually happened in your life. They don’t have to funny or good. They’re just you. And getting to unload all of the awkward parts about being a human onto an audience is pretty freaking cathartic, especially when you’re a neurotic, mother fucker like me.
Through all the ups and downs of learning to write, I’m beginning to love it. I love being able to create something out of nothing. I love having my own voice that I’ve been so afraid of sharing. All this time, I’ve just been waiting for this extraordinary story to happen that I would somehow be inspired to write about. I’ve been waiting for this incredible life to just occur for me that includes success and love and a rockin’ bod. I’ve been very disappointed, as you can imagine, living with that belief. Now, I’m starting to understand that the story I’ve been waiting for is already here. It’s my story.
That incredible life is already mine. And I have it, right now. Well except for that rockin’ bod, don’t quite have that yet, BUT I WILL.
I hope you found some enjoyment in my mushy thoughts. They come from a good place. Go forth and write your story, cool strangers!
Em
