V. H. King's Ink

Journaling has long been a favorite of mine.  I used to fill pages on end, scribbling near-relentlessly as I sifted through my thoughts.  Between blog posts and physical notebooks, along with my other story projects, my friends were convinced I wrote more than 50,000 words a month on a regular basis.  I don’t know how true that was, but I knew I wrote a lot.

Over the past several years, my ability to journal steadily declined.  And for the longest time, I didn’t know why.  Writing wasn’t second nature, it was how I made sense of everything around me.  It was the language I knew better than anything else—so why, how, was it suddenly failing me?  Putting words together into sentences, whether on a screen, on paper, or aloud, became a struggle of the likes I’d never encountered before.  The tremendous effort it took wasn’t just reserved for my own journaling though, or even just for writing.  Reading became a challenge as well, from the academic journal articles assigned in my graduate program to supposedly easier blurbs on social media. 

I’ve been aware of these changes since 2015—before I even finished undergrad—but it didn’t click until this past year that my burnout had become so severe that it had interfered with my basic cognitive functioning.  I’m grateful for the friends along the way who have gently encouraged me to be patient with myself, find ways to rest when and where I’m able, and passed along helpful information on what burnout is and the nuances in how it presents in different people.  More than anything, I’m glad that the words haven’t left me entirely—not yet, at least.

In 2021, I decided to try my hand at writing shorter fiction than my usual stories.  Part of this was to allow myself to have more fun with it.  Another reason was because—well, I couldn’t keep writing the way I used to.  Last year, I found myself pulled into the world of story once again, but I knew I couldn’t write it all at once.  So I started posting a drafted story as a mini-series, which gave me more time with my characters while also pacing my workload.  The last mini-series I posted finished off in September, until I resumed posting this year.  Speaking of this year, I’m trying something new.  Again. 

If and when I am able, I hope to post more stories—whether longer one-shots, shorter scribbles, or mini-series that get broken up into several posts.  I also have started journaling again, listening to a tug that I hadn’t felt in a long while.  Maybe it was a few weeks off from work last December that helped me find the presence of mind to pick up a pen, who knows?  Thanks to a slew of medical matters over the past six months, many of my creative endeavors have been on hold—not to mention, well, kind of my entire life. 

So, what am I doing the same, but differently?

I’ve started journaling again.  But rather than fretting over my lack of words, I’m allowing myself a paragraph here, a sentence or two there.  Assorted thoughts, trivial or substantial, whatever crosses my mind.  Since I can’t focus the way I used to, I’ve had to adapt and adjust in a lot of areas.  This is no different—but it should be noted that you can only bend so far until you’re bent out of shape for good.  I don’t know if I will ever regain the capacity I’ve lost by continually pushing myself for the last…long while. 

It’s scary to me to think that, at this point, even being able to work on my creative projects two or three times a week seems like a tremendous goal I would need to work up to.  While I used to write a short story every week, or committed to posting several chapters a month, I’ve had to take a step back from that.  Several steps, actually.  I’m re-learning what is within my scope of capacity, and hoping to find ways my creativity can still fit into that. 

Oh, how I hope it will still fit. 

So far, my journaling snippets have afforded a daily practice that has turned into a treat of sorts.  Despite my infrequent posts on assorted platforms, I have a stockpile of projects I hope to share with the world someday.  And, I’m collecting another stack, it seems—emphasis on little.  My journaling tends to end with a thought I don’t know how to fully flesh out, and decide to simply save and think about later. 

I’ve been keeping track of these closing lines in assorted places—one of which has been on a tiny corner of tumblr, if you want to poke around or follow along. I don’t know what I will do with all of these last-lines.  Maybe I’ll use them as prompts for short stories, or inspiration for paintings.  Maybe I’ll put them all together into a little book, just to have a tangible copy of this year’s journey.  Whatever happens, I’m glad to have kept with this practice for the first two months of the year, and I’m excited to see where all these scribbles lead.