Writing Less...But Doing More

Every once in awhile you become a professional. An adult. Doing #Adulting Things!!!

Sadly those things leave little room for writing. I do write. Just not the kind of stuff I like. 

I write in my work. And believe it or not I SUCK AT IT. 

Not for anything but the writing at work, what they've chosen to term as: "Business Writing" has no soul. It's stoic, stiff and presentable. The tenses are correct and the sentences are superb, it's just not free flowing, casual and warm, the kind that speaks to you and caresses your senses - which is the kind of writing I am used to. Even when I try to impose my style of writing it is met with red marks, and awful rewrites that cause me to question myself and the state of my #AnitaWrites heart. I keep wondering, "Am I a fake?" A simple letter written by me is met with red brushstrokes, and that look that says, "What they taught me in Business Writing class is..."

These are all icks I have been fed in my career in my quest to find myself at that place where I can sink in and possibly work in until I retire while I secretly work on my passion. If only the editor, his vicious self, would get a clue that what he's editing is not my passion. It's what I can only hope is my stop gap to my career defining job. Writing letters (as archaic as that sounds) is not my best skill. Emails are much much easier. Who writes letters anyway? Nigerian professionals obviously. 

In trying to master this letter writing that saps one of soul, of humph, I cannot bring myself to writing, the real writing, the blogging, the soliloquizing, the kind that though doesn't pay the bills it gets you out of your head, your thoughts, life's stupidities, and...it finds some way to make you...happy and whole. 

So I am not writing but I am thinking...and finding some way to write about it. 

Be well...and stay true.