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The awkwardness of writing away from work

I’m acutely aware that I get paid to do what I love, and that very fact makes me a very lucky individual. As recently as one year ago, I dreamed–literally dreamed–of writing for a living. It’s something I’m very passionate about.

Ever since I started high school (so we’re talking roughly a decade) I’ve written loads of garbage every day. Poetry, short stories, the first two chapters of dozens of novels that I later re-read and vomit profusely, The Onion-style faux-interviews. I wrote a lot.

Since I started my job back in October of last year, that has stopped to some extent. I’m not sure the exact reason. I still enjoy writing. Hell, I still love it–I wouldn’t be at my current job if I didn’t.

For whatever reason, I’ve found that when I sit down in front of a keyboard and begin to type out anything other than Sevier County-related news or feature stories, I just don’t have the fire there anymore. And I’m not a huge fan of churning out content just for the sake of churning.

I’ve had many passing aspirations of keeping a regular journal of my thoughts (which is what this website is…in theory, anyway), but it just doesn’t feel right for whatever reason.

I need to find the spark again with my outside writing. Or maybe spending eight hours every day dedicated to producing copy on deadline makes all other writing seem less important.

Even writing this handful of paragraphs was tough.

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