As the other half of this whole project, I've finally been roped into writing on this blog. I'm Sarah. I never left my emo phase. I'm the world's proudest rat mom. And - if you hadn't already guessed - I'm a musician with a knack for writing lyrics that make people cry.
I've been on a bit of a hiatus from writing for a few years. The cause is still up for debate. I'm thinking it was a delicious cocktail of poor life choices, crippling clinical depression, a terrible schedule, and a splash of self-doubt. But, it's a new year. And with that new year comes resolutions that I will probably give up on in a few months. Or a few days. Who knows. I guess giving writing a shot isn't a bad deal.
But, trying to pick up writing again is not like riding a bike (although I'm not sure if I even remember how to ride a bike). You can sit at a keyboard or with a pen in your hand and stare at a blank page and the only thing that comes out is "I want to shit myself to death". That's it. It leads nowhere. You're stuck feeling unsatisfied. It doesn't come back fluidly. The inspiration doesn't strike. And you faceplant into the gravel. A lot.
The half-finished drafts and fifteen second audio clips recorded on your phone at three in the morning are like skinned knees. Every time you look at them, you're reminded of the time you tried and failed. You fell off the bike. You got nowhere.
But, damn, when you get on a roll. It feels like you're flying.
Although I've spent a lot more time lying on the ground, staring at the sky, wondering why I'm even trying.
When I'm in that place I tend to listen to music. Johnny Cash, The Decemberists, Nick Cave, My Chemical Romance, Mastodon, Patti Smith, Death Cab for Cutie, Phish, Bruce Springsteen - the list is insanely long. I wonder how they keep writing. Do they ever get dirt and rocks embedded in the palms of their hands? How many crumpled pieces of paper does it take before they write a hit? Do they ever get tired?
Maybe I'll never remember how to ride a bike.
I'll always fall. It will always hurt.
But, maybe, there's still a shot.
Maybe I'll ride a fucking horse.
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