Writing—especially when you haven’t done it in a long time—feels like you’re drowning. I haven’t written anything good in a while, and it’s so disorienting.

You’re in the middle of this vast ocean scrambling for anything in the distance to stay afloat. You find some piece of driftwood which feels good for a while, but before you know it, you’re back in the swirling sea of blank, once again adrift in your thoughts.

You feel like you can’t breathe, your thoughts scattered, your mind cut off; wasn’t this easier before?

The point is to build a raft, and that is when the journey begins.
I sat down and wrote something today with genuine effort, and it was terrible. I felt like a fifth-grader again going back to the process of my ever-diligent Language Arts teachers. That was my favorite class. I was good at writing once upon a time.
I guess my point in writing this is to get back to that point where I was interested in writing, fascinated by reading, and wide-eyed curious about the world. I think the over saturation of bad writing on the internet dissuaded me from writing well, and then from writing at all.

There’s so much junk already out there, does writing well even matter?
But all of life is an idea. Anything that was any good came from an idea, which was written down, and needed to be conveyed.

The point is that ideas have power, and writing furthers ideas. Therefore writing is power. Logical fallacy much? Hey, practice makes better.