Committing myself to writing each day has been super trying. My brain has been very strictly kept tracing along a scientific dotted line for years and now I expect and demand creativity on a daily basis. That’s actually just cruel of me. Yet, here I am. Still writing.
This isn’t something I believed myself capable of. I’ve never thought my writing strong or sure enough to carry me. A gamble as big as I’ve taken is almost laughable with that track record. When I was a kid I danced through career potentials and landed firmly on Zoologist for the greater portion of my youth. It actually wasn’t until applying for university that I ‘responsibly’ sought more job rich studies. Hence, Environmental Resource Management. Funnily enough, I was bored out of my mind in this program and found much more comfort and stimuli in my minor in Biology and even greater joy in any Zoology course I could get my brain on.
Labs, dissections, proposals, research assignments, endless papers with formal citations and theoretical and scientific jargon got me through school.
Years of work in zoos, aquariums, animal rehabilitation centres and emergency veterinary clinics followed. I’ve bottle fed tigers, cleaned up after way too many species, led enrichment programs, rescued orphaned and injured wildlife and everything else linked directly to an animal related profession.
And now, I write. I write in the personal, in the abstract and with as few professional references as I can manage. From the blog posts I make, to the articles I submit to help finance this life of mine right now, and straight back to this book I’ve been working on, it’s all me playing by my own rules. I’m flying by the seam of my pants here. This is me taking a chance on something I’ve come to be passionate about. Sure, my confidence likes to waver, and yes, I read much better work on a regular basis from anyone but me, but this is where I’m going right now. I’d like to imagine that this writing commitment is similar to practicing an instrument. You play and play until you improve. The songs become more sure in themselves under your fingers and the masterpieces slide inch by inch closer into your reach. I’m hoping, by sitting here each day, and clicking away on this lap top, my words, sentences, thoughts and ideas are getting firmer. My personality starting to maybe slither between lines and my witticism not only audible in my own head all the time. I want my writing to just keep getting better. I want to grow and stretch in this new endeavour and find the footing I’ve been stumbling for. Maybe it’s coming. Maybe I’m onto something here. Maybe if I just keep writing…