My youngest sister challenged me to write more in 2019. It was a pointed challenge. I write for my job, I don’t write for myself. I used to love writing. I suppose I still love it. I just don’t do it.

Her only stipulation was that I write for 30 minutes every week. That doesn’t seem like very much, but it’s proven difficult. Here I am in March, and this is really the first intentional effort I’ve made to put some words down. It’s past time to start.

Creativity is a fussy pet. I can often be an absent-minded caregiver.

Recently two things happened that reinvigorated my creativity and love for writing.

1. My friend baked a cake for his mother’s birthday and broadcast the process on Instagram
2. A colleague at work sent out an email newsletter with an unforgivably stupid typo

The first event inspired pure ridiculousness. I’ll post what I wrote next, together with some background. It was fun, it was irreverent. It was for the single purpose of hassling my friend, possibly making him laugh. I probably got more out of it.

The second event was very different. I used writing to respond to and take back control of a problem that was beyond my repair. Writing, as a form of creative problem solving, can change perspective, emotion, comprehension… and I needed that so I wouldn’t dwell, so I wouldn’t sit in frustration.  I’ll be sure to post more on this as well.

The thing is, each of these instances provoked something in me that I responded to with writing as a part of me. It’s been a long time since writing manifested from my personality– like a function of my character–instead of my using it as just a tool or a skill acquired.

So, more of that. More of silliness, more of problem solving, more of self care. More of all of it. I’m intrigued and eager to discover how writing can serve me and the people I care about in different ways.