I've been working steadily to create good writing habits. In the process, I've felt the need to organize some of my writing space and that includes the myriad of journals, steno notebooks, loose leaf papers, drawings, lists, business cards, past conference materials... You probably get the idea - there's a lot I need to sort through and organize. How, and even if, a writer can organize their stuff is rather doubtful to me, but it won't stop me from giving it my best shot.
In the process of sorting, I came across some interesting pieces; some that make me laugh or roll my eyes. Others take me by surprise and stir up old thoughts and feelings. Today I came across one such piece.
My strongest inclination is to not share this here publicly, but then I realize who really reads this blog? In a previous article, I wrote that my intention is to make this space what it is and not what I thought it was supposed to be(come). The very few people who might read it will most likely appreciate and understand why I feel compelled to share it here anyway. It's about me and how I see myself in regards to this writing life. It's from July 2017 - that's over three years ago, and it still says exactly what I would say today if I were actually interviewed. What possessed me to write an imaginary interview with myself, I may never know, but I'm glad I did. I'm thankful I kept it and glad I came across it in my sorting.
Why share a conversation I had with myself? I don't know. It's weird, and that's why I titled this post The Weird Interview with Myself. LOL I think maybe it's because I suspect that other writers might see it as a useful tool for themselves at some point. This drew some things out of me in the safety of my own space that I likely would never have been able to articulate if it had simply been part of a passing conversation. Maybe, I'm simply putting this here for safe keeping for my future self.
Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. This blog is as much about my writing life as it is anything else because, as I state on the third page, "Being a writer was kind of like being a female. It seemed more like it just was fact, not that it was something that I chose or wanted to be when I grew up." It feels so good, so freeing, to finally fully embrace that about myself and stop worrying about whether or not I'm a good writer. In the end, I'm a writer for better or for worse.