In search of magic

Magic: a word I’ve used over and over again, in every form and every context. In fact, most of my blog posts include the word at least once because I’ve always attributed magic to writing, that feeling of place, security, and endless wonderment that courses through my veins every time my fingers start to tango across the keyboard. But lately, it’s not something I’ve felt so strongly when I write. Writing was once a hobby, an inescapable passion. Now, it’s my profession. My means of financial stability. I no longer write simply because I want to.

Money is the number one reason why marriages and long-term relationships fail, and with artists, it’s not much different. We all fall hopelessly in love with some of our work while developing an intense hatred for others. It’s a tumultuous romance yet wildly beautiful. One that gives birth to timeless masterpieces.

I, of course, am no master of art. I am simply a person who loves to write, who is spellbound by words and the world they create.

But I am no longer completely enraptured by the spell of words.Now that I ‘m a journalist by profession and spend my days in front of the computer, battling against the ever-terrifying blank page, my relationship to writing has changed. It takes a bit more energy now, the pull to the haphazard journal on the corner of my desk is no longer as magnetic.

Last week, this realization scared the living delights out of me. Is it possible to corrupt a lifelong hobby by living too closely by the adage that if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life? I love my job but does writing become a little less lovable after my shift ends and the creative juice seem to run dry?

Of course it’s possible but I also think that the only person that has the power to rob yourself of passion is you and there is still magic in writing, even if I have to dig a little deeper to untangle the twinkling string of words that has lit my life path so far.

Successful relationships take work and patience, trial and error. As soon as I publish this post, I will probably revisit it many times and scrutinize each paragraph. Some will displease me, others will seem shallow but the words on the page will keep me afloat in that rough and beautiful sea rippling through the dosy pages. Enchantment trumps weariness any day; still, there is magic in the air

Chase after the magic,

Anna

 

 

 

 

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