It's interesting (to me, probably not to you) that I used to write so prolifically on multiple blogs and now struggle to make regular updates on just one. More interestingly, it seems like a gradual degradation of creativity that began years ago.
I actually used to write poetry and numerous short-stories as a child. Later, my creativity branched into music composition. I seem to have peaked and started regression in my twenties. It's like some sad-ironic life-long telling of "Flowers for Algernon." Over the last couple years, though, I have to admit that my extended creative block seems less a loss of my super-powers and more like the recognition of a rut.
In my early blogscursions, I covered everything from movie reviews to political and religious commentary. I dabbled in humor and did a little dramatic writing. I even put the poet hat back on once or twice. Over time, my creative juices seemed to settle into self-analysis and lament. Eventually, the constant examination of self began to nauseate even me. At the same time that I was beginning to realize my own whiny nature and to loathe my self-loathing self for it, I began to realize that it seemed to be a pretty common trend among us trans-folk.
This evolution of understanding slowly soured my desire to blog, and even more so my desire to read and participate in blogs. My presence became scarce. Now my desire to write, and to hopefully write professionally someday has brought me back to the blogosphere. The question remains; is this the next step in my personal evolution, or just another spin around a well-worn block? The coming months (and you, my friends) will have to judge. I encourage your honest feedback.
This is my battle-cry: I will post compelling content with an honest and forthright approach. I will not wallow in the mire of self-pity, but will examine and share the experiences I encounter with an eye toward my eventual sense of self and self-worth. I will not lament my station in life, my dress size, or my overambitious follicles. I will not obsess over how the world sees me, who likes me, or how I got to this place in the world. I will use my words to create my universe. I will paint my self in my own light and reflect the light of the world - the good light - upon my existence. I will construct the image that others take away with them. Upon these pages, I will define myself - not as I was, but as I will be. And as I understand who I will be, who I am will emerge.
Who's with me?
***WARNING: SHAMELESS COMMERCIALIZATION AHEAD!!***
In the meantime, I'd love to introduce another title for your consideration. I'm sure a vast majority of you in genderland are familiar with the name Calpernia Addams. In her beats the heart of a creator, and that heart is laid bare for you in her stellar work, "Mark 947." If you haven't already read it, be a dear and click the link. You won't be sorry. Her narrative flows like the brushstrokes of an artist painting a masterpiece.
If you have read it (or after you do), please share your thoughts about the work. I'd love to know whether you agree.