Walls

Wow. It’s really been a while since I’ve posted. And even longer because when I did finally want to come back, I got locked out of my account, although that’s a different story.

As some of you may know, I am a writer. I write fantasy, cheesy teenager stories, and sometimes even fan fiction. I even used an online editor to make a Doctor Who choose your own adventure story! By the way, to the person who said it was great and fun to play but rated it 3 stars: What the heck?

I love writing so much, I’ve been doing it since I’ve been able to read. I have a picture of me, only about three or four, writing about castles, and a horse play from the summer after kindergarten. I’m not trying to brag about my writing skills, I just want to express how hard it is when you’ve been writing for so long, and then all of a sudden you just stop.

The sky is orge, the casol is blue -Eleanor (3 years old)

When I was younger, I was obsessed with horses. Now, I’m not. That’s why you don’t see me walking around wearing horse clothing. I grew out of the clothes, along with my favorite animal. If I had held on to that phase that I went through as a second grader, my shirts would be crop-tops and I wouldn’t be able to button my pants.

I feel like this is happening to me in writing. I used to be able to spew out pages at a time, writing plays in hour and novels in two weeks. Now I can get out about a thousand words in a day, at best. I feel like I’m ‘growing out of my writing clothing’ if you know what I mean. I don’t wear the clothes as often, but when somebody suggests to get rid of them, I refuse. And when somebody comments on how the clothes don’t look good (how I can’t finish a story, or the fact that my writing ends up so shallow), I want to take them off.

And I’ve only now come to this conclusion: I’ve hit a wall. Writer’s block. And I think it’s because, although I still want to keep my old clothes, I’ve had a change of style. So whatever happens, I’m going to keep pressing on, keep doing this writing, because even when it’s bad, writing is something that makes me happy. Writing can help me escape from the real world and for once, I don’t have to worry about what I look like or what other people are saying about me. I can worry about my character. What’s going to happen to them next. Fix their problems.

And if any of you are feeling the same way, about anything you used to enjoy doing, you don’t have to get rid of your old clothing if you don’t want to. You might have to adjust it a bit, since you’re different now. But just because you don’t enjoy the same things you used to enjoy doesn’t mean you need to get rid of them completely. Just figure out what you need to change to make it more enjoyable. Keep pressing on, and break down that wall.

And do some sewing if you have to.

-Eleanor

Okay, that was the weirdest thing I’ve ever written, with a few exceptions, including the time that I wrote about a relationship between a horse and a guava tree. Give this post a thumbs-up if you want more weird analogies that make next to no sense. I think I’m deteriorating as a person.

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