I’ve always been good with words – pick any of my school reports and I was ‘talkative’, ‘chatty’ heck my yearbook entry was ‘Most likely to… utilise elongated vocabulary’. The written word was always going to feature heavily in my adult life and I’ve taken great comfort in seeking a friend of a blank screen and blinking cursor but 2019 was the year that I lost my writing mojo and after an initial search and rescue it’s nowhere to be found.

Even this post I’ve written out of sync, writing paragraphs and reordering at the end, editing as if I was a complete stranger. Maybe my style or perhaps just the process has changed?

Is imposter syndrome creeping in? The solitary silence of working for myself making itself heard – who knows. The thoughts and ideas are most definitely there; my oral capacity hasn’t reduced and I maintain that my finest often come to me during a late-night shower. Yet when it comes to translating them onto the screen… nothing. It’s as is if my thoughts are somehow marooned on a desert island if only I was too.

The thing is I’ve always been my own boss in one way or another – yes I’ve had extended contracts but ultimately I always knew it was never permanent. My long term career has been transient and whilst suiting my home setup it’s perhaps time to revaluate how rewarding it is for me on a professional – and personal level. There’s no glass ceiling to break at home which I’ve come to learn is both a good and bad thing. I suppose it was always going to happen, mix writing: a truly creative process with deadlines and briefs and you’ll inevitably come to this junction. Maybe I need to write less for work in order for it to return. I’ve just read this last sentence back – this is a privilege anyone who has bills to pay simply can’t afford.

Or is this a completely normal mid-career crisis I’m experiencing? A to-be-expected blip in the road. Despite being a writer of sorts from a young age I’ve never yearned to write a novel although like many others often felt I had a ‘book in me’; it was this train of thinking that had me believe I could escape a long-term bought of writers block.

Perhaps I’ve simply grown up too much and in the process lost the space to write – the mundanity of everyday life filling up where once was the opportunity for ‘creative writing’ – remember when that was a whole thing. I’ve tried giving myself a break, trying to work through it – a quick fix hasn’t materialised as of yet and neither will it. It would appear I’m in it for the long haul, maybe 2020 is the year I rediscover my writing mojo. 

So like a beloved old glove, a little worn around the edges but still so greatly valued and needed I hope you come back to me soon.

My ability to chat has shown no signs of slowing down – if you’re not already why not follow me on Instagram for daily stories I like to think I offer an eclectic mix of travel, beauty and rambling thoughts of a freelancer; it’s a modern-day smoothie without the bits