My Love-Hate with Writing

This was supposed to be a post about the new year – but it morphed into a post about why I havent written.

First things first – I haven’t posted in just under 2 years! Which to be honest is ridiculous.
I’m not sure why.
I feel like it was due to the fact that I really got caught up with the whole website organization thing. I’ve been caught up for years. YEARS!
What’s my website for? Who’s gonna look at it? What are you trying to do with it? How is it going to drive customers your way?  C’mon now. I just wanted a website to show my photography and everything else that I was interested in. Not so simple as I’m sure you know.
The funny thing is that I’m not even interested in doing photography anymore. I use to get excited to take great pictures. Take my camera with me wherever I went, but then I joined this Art club, started to exhibit, and do a few shows and I really lost interest. I love how I have my photography hanging in my house. (Wait let’s be real: I live in an apartment.) I really love some of my photos so, some of my best ones go on the wall. I’m not sure if that’s the epiphany of being vain af, but they’re there.
How did I lose interest? Simple answer: Monetization. It became this thing that was costing me money, for one. I also felt like my artistic eye was tarnished by the fact that I was worried about getting my next show, selling a print, or this overwhelmingly long goal of making a living off of being a fine art photographer. I felt like if I did it long enough I would have just eventually slipped my way into doing weddings. I have zero interest in doing weddings. The two are very different worlds. I can hear my mom in my head going ” just do weddings, you’ll make a lot of money.” It still makes me cringe.  I should be mourning the death of my photography interest, but I do still love it. I still like taking pictures, but they’re for me. I think there’s a peace in that. (To my photo friends who do wedding photography, if you love it I commend you. You’re angels…except the women who did my wedding UGH!)

I always wrote. I kept journals as a kid. Yeah a Journal. Fuck saying diary. I’ve always hated that word! I’m haunted by those exclusive words that are preserved for woman to use. It wasn’t always like that. oh, I know. But when you’re little, every dumb boy would tease a girl saying “Oh are you gonna write in your diiiiiarrry?!” Cut to me punching said boy in the face.
Anyway, I kept journals from paper to online. I did posts on myspace, live journal, and embraced the drama that went with it as a teenager. Then I got sophisticated and began to write blogs. Yes! Blogs! I wrote about living on a cruise ship with the purpose of helping people who were looking to venture into a life on a ship. When I did it I had no idea and no vantage point to figure out what life would be like on a cruise ship. I wrote, I helped people like I wanted, and then I stopped because I moved to NYC. Then I began to write about the whole relocation to NYC, film stuff and the pursuit into the photography world. I wrote, I discovered things about myself, I stopped.

My last few posts on my website were about being on set. I stopped writing about that too. I’m not sure why either for this one. But I think it was the fact that I kept getting more and more work as a 1stAD and it was the time factor that was against me. When I get knee deep into AD work I have zero time for anything else. It’s also a combination of me feeling a little aggravated with the team I was working with. I didn’t want it to turn into this bitch-fest.

I just realized my problem.

My writing had to always have a theme. I’d get an idea to write about whatever life stuff was going on, and if it didn’t fit with whatever the theme of the blog I was doing I just wouldn’t write. I mean don’t get me wrong as all I’m not calling myself a writer. I just like to  get my thoughts on…screen.
Well, today hopefully is the beginning to not giving af. I’ll write what I wanna write. Yeah the title is called freelance film life, that’s like 75 of my life. Does it define me – maybe it does. 

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