Will I Ever Write like Who I Once Was?

I think I'm done finding the joy in writing again.

I will say it a million times. Fall is magic.

Maybe it’s just me, but I can almost feel the vibrancy of the turn of season echoing through the space around me. I feel the gentle power coursing through the brisk breeze and the hushed reminders whenever I take a step that sounds like a resounding crunch of leaves beneath my boots that will eventually come out of storage.

I also feel the sense of the undeniably magical fall energy this time of year when I think about or open the pages back up to write. The page is hollow and empty but has so much space and potential to flourish with a swipe of blue ink or snap of letters on a keyboard for a story to form.

I don’t remember strictly when I first started writing stories, but I have to imagine that it was fall.

It must’ve been. Every year since, I have felt the same pull. Reconnect, reconsider, create. And create with enough passion to make you feel a little magical—powerful each time you sit down to create something out of nothing.

I still feel the same pull. I still feel the deep, wholehearted desire of an artist, yet for the past few years, I’ve also felt heaviness, and not only in the season. I’ve felt the pressure to create that makes the magic tingle and ache. This year, however, I want to change that.

This year, I think as fall rolls around, I’m finally done asking and searching and remembering the joy when it comes to that act of writing.

I’m going to be that joy—that magic.