Write or Wrong

Writing used to come a lot easier to me.

I had this friend in high school (she's still a friend, actually...I think. I should probably call and confirm that). Anyhoo, I had this friend in high school that I would torture entertain by writing stupid silly newspaper articles using the characters and plot lines from The X-Files, my TV obsession at the time. I would type one up every couple of nights & slip it in her German textbook in school the next day, then wait for her giggles from the back of the classroom. Those stories were hilarious and irreverent, and I really wish I had saved one or two. It was around that time I decided I would pursue a degree in journalism--I liked writing, I seemed to be okay at it, so what the hey?

Flash forward a few years to my Comparative Studies class as a sophomore in college; it was an English course that typically had us responding to a question posed about a book read or movie watched in the class. Typically, in true Kim academic fashion, I would write my paper the evening before (or in some cases, the morning of) its due date, hand it in, and consider it done--until the professor would hand back the graded papers. Seems simple enough, right? Nope. He always kept one paper to read to the class as an example of a job well done. And I sh*t you not: EVERY TIME, it was my paper. For the whole quarter. And I would sit red-faced in the class because everyone knew it was mine, since I was the only one without a returned paper. There was pride there, I'm sure, but in my post-adolescent haze, it was hard to focus on that above the cloud of embarrassment.

In the next few years, I finished my degree, complete with an English minor. But something had changed. My "voice" was stifled so that I could sound like a journalist; all objectivity and no personality. Blech. I got my first real job as a reporter for a Catholic newspaper, and HATED. IT. I realized I had no desire whatsoever to call people out of the blue and interview them about...well...Catholic stuff. Or any stuff. Turns out "true" journalism wasn't for me.

And so after eight l-o-n-g months, I got away from it. My degree is not central to my current job, and that's fine. I just feel like somewhere along the way, amidst the rules for writing a catching headline and the limitations of chronicling the goings-on of churches in Indiana, I lost my writing mojo. And I'd love to get it back, which is probably the root reason as to why I started this blog (whether I knew it at the time or not). I've definitely got muses--the resident munchkins offer plenty of fodder--and I enjoy the release of letting my thoughts flow in a way that doesn't involve me flapping my gums. 

But I want to be so much better. There are blogs out there that just FLOOR me; the writing is so candid and raw and hilarious and heart-wrenching. I'm really inspired by those folks that I don't even know, and wouldn't know about, if it weren't for this crazy activity of blogging. What a crazy thing!

So maybe it's a little odd that this is on my mind while all this SOPA and PIPA crud is running rampant on the interwebz? I don't know. What I do know censorship is rarely a positive word, and would really hate to see the connectivity and the collaboration inspired by the web damaged. I rarely get political on here, but I've definitely voiced my opinion to my legislators on this one.

I may even write an anti-SOPA/PIPA article featuring Special Agents Mulder & Scully and send it to that high school friend. It might be nice to hear her giggle.