Personal Essay

A Messenger Hijacked by the writing gods

Renewed My Creative Mojo

When I first started writing on Medium, I knew that it would be a big commitment for me. I was working and taking care of my family, and that didn’t leave much time for pursuing my writing.

Like most writers, the passion was there. I mean, Writing was my Salvation. My bladed weapon of Sanity in an otherwise, deranged, schizophrenic world.

Then, the pandemic lockdown happened. Lost in isolation, I turned once again to my neglected lover, Writing, and asked for gentle, eternal mercy. Would he take me back into his arms, at my loneliest hour? Would she feed my soul, as I lay barren, watching Oedipal episodes of Tiger King?

Medium became my rock. Surrounded by waterfalls and natural springs, to drink and be inspired. It became a place to welcome my stories. It felt… well, very good.

I was happy to be near a community of Writers, of Creatives. Hey, it’s my thing, it’s how I’m wired.

Then, in time, actually a few months, I was suffering from a form of PTSD. We had gone through the worst part of the pandemic, with many casualties and the curve was indeed being flattened, day by day. But the virus had affected some co-workers and family members and I was also suffering from Covid-Fatigue.

I turned once again to Writing and there was something about clicking the Publish button that released the same hormone or neurotransmitter I feel at the slot machines at the Casino. Then, to see the published story on their page and to get highlights and reads, along with claps and comments brought me a level of exhilaration combined with serenity that I usually associate with a serotonin or oxytocin high.

I was able to mask feelings of depression from my mind. I just wanted my soul to soar.

Honestly, I haven’t been good at looking at my stats. My brain doesn’t compute that stuff well. And what I don’t understand, I feel does not bring me joy. I was too busy, anyway, editing and writing the next poem or essay. Funny, how poems come easier to me than essays. Even I, find that strange.

But, on Medium Writing, that makes me a Unicorn. Almost everyone is fluent in their stats, views, all that information. And some of them were expressing their frustrations and disappointments with meager earnings, sparsity of curations and significant delays in publishing response.

They were wondering if all this was bringing them into a dejected state of being. If it was time to take a break and recharge. I admit it, I was confused. Some of these writers were creative talents that I look up to. It was not a good day. I was starting to wonder, Is everything meaningless? And joyless? I went to bed, feeling depressed.

I woke up with malaise.

I decided to check a specific Pub page, Illumination, to see if they had printed a story I had submitted. I could have just checked my notifications first, but I didn’t. There it appeared on the story grid.

Then, I followed my normal routine: I always try to read at least five to ten stories from the day’s lineup. That’s when I came upon a piece that renewed my feelings about the Writing and publishing process. It was a delicious breakfast bite. It was just what I needed at that moment. Some joy. Something uplifting.

Here’s a link to the story that made me feel better. It was written by Medium writer, Pia Barna.

I loved reading her article. I think it refueled my Writing mojo, that was beginning to wane.

And what I find most amazing is the timing of the piece, the synchronicity of it appearing the morning after my writing-depression crisis. It made me wonder about the creative energy that is within each one of us, that travels through time and space, and lands words onto a blank page. Please do give this a read, but I will leave you with one line from the story, that I liked,

‘What if your work reaches people that you can inspire with your words?’

Beautifully expressed, Pia Barna, you are a messenger extraordinaire.

© Connie Song 2020