I began writing in a journal at an early age but I've never been able to stay committed and focused on it. I thought that I might be able to stay with it when I did my semester abroad; reasoning that I wouldn't want to forget any details of my time in England. I was good for about two weeks. I thought I might do the same to chart my pregnancy and now my experiences with motherhood; I've yet to write a single word. I suppose that if I have the time to do this I would rather read someone else's words than jot down my own.
In high school I wrote poetry furiously and I wrote it on anything I had handy: paper, my hand, a wall, etc. My works were always fueled by teen angst and the unhappiness and melancholy that usually accompanies adolescence. My poetry as I've gotten older and less miserable has also become sparse, as if my inspiration is derived from unhappiness. I find that my "happy" poetry tends to be pandering and I throw away more than I keep. My teens were a mish mash of black lipstick, grunge music, dark imagery and unrequited love and I poured that into my writing.
The above link seems to sum up my teens so eloquently. I am glad that those days are behind me, even if my well of inspiration is tentatively dry. I'd rather be happy and uninspired than the alternative.
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