My Summer In The Studio

I can no longer write pretty.

I thought it was a form of writer’s block or the emotional toll of the last few months. Except for assignments I needed to finish for my Novel 1 course, I haven't been able to express my heart through words in public. Which is an important part of who I am.

Somehow I started to fall into the trap of a real writer doesn’t put anything into the world unless it’s an “article” or an “edited piece” or a “short form essay” or a “published book.”

I am craving a safe space to be sloppy and unedited and raw with my words. I’m tired of waiting until I can make my sentences elegant and rhythmic, tight and to the point. I moved my work to the simplicity of Squarespace and opted for a good ol’ fashioned blog.

But here’s what’s happening. In my quest to sound like a formal writer or an aspiring debut novelist, I ignored the studio and strove for a stage.

I wish more writers glorified the studio.

Painters are the perfect examples to me. Their studios are visibly in disarray. Paint splatters, dirty aprons, and crusty tables are the decor. They have half-finished canvases stacked against the walls and supplies bursting out of drawers. Their studios are an altar to the process and the play.

This is my summer of shitty writing. I am opening the doors again to my writing studio. Why did I ever shut them?

I am surrounded by piles of journals. Layers of favorite books. Jars of pens and pencils. Poetry on the walls. Cards waiting to be sent. Sticky notes of random ideas and thoughts. A computer full of possible chapters and unpolished essays.

Social media, and even Substack, the supposed writers’ heaven, feel too official for me right now.

I need less fancy art gallery feel, where everyone is presentable, and more disheveled, crafty corners where my creativity can seep out a little sideways and the unsophisticated delight of imagination and intrigue can linger.

Step into my studio, friends! Grab a pen, your ideas, your paintbrush. Let’s scribble and splatter and scream.

The stage can wait.

Will you join me for a summer in the studio?