IWSG: Evolution of Creativity

It's the first Wednesday of the month which means it's time to let our insecurities hang out. Yep, it's the Insecure Writer's Support Group blog hop. If you're a writer at any stage of career, I highly recommend this blog hop as a way to connect with other writers for support, sympathy and networking. If you're a reader, it's a great way to peek behind the curtain of a writing life. 

After you see what I have to say, be sure to check out the rest of the hope and our excellent co-hosts: Ellen @ The Cynical Sailor,Ann V. Friend, JQ Rose, and Elizabeth Seckman!

The November 7 question - How has your creativity in life evolved since you began writing?

I've been a writer since I learned how to write. Maybe even before that, because my drawings always had stories to go with them, even when I didn't know how to make letters yet. I was one of those kids that would make house guests grin tensely at my mother and say, "My, she certainly is creative, isn't she?" with a little nervous wobble in their voices. I guess not everyone was ready for gruesome ghost stories from a squeaky four year old. 

Luckily, my mom got it. She has a creative bent, too. And a leaning towards the weird and macabre. (like daughter, like mother?) She supported my endeavors, keeping me in paper, pens, bound books, and later in computers and printer ink. More importantly, she didn't try to tell me that my creations were inappropriate. I know now that I was very fortunate. A lot of young creatives don't meet with that same kind of support. 

My childhood creativity was half self-expression and half a desire to evoke a response from adults in my life. Whenever I felt strongly about something, you can bet I was going to write a firmly worded letter or a maudlin and melodramatic poem. If something I wrote got a gasp of surprise or a belly laugh, I'd feel like I'd won. 

As I grew into adulthood, writing became a coping mechanism. A lot of this was writing I would never show anyone, but writing that was really a kind of thinking and reflecting. 

Writing it out was cathartic, and helpful sometimes for organizing my wayward thoughts into a coherent understanding of my own feelings.  I still wrote all the time, but I wasn't seeking an audience for most of it. It was private. Almost a secret. 

I started lots of things and finished almost none. 

After a few years where I didn't write much at all (too much life in my way), I found my way back to writing while dealing with a bout of postpartum depression. Somewhere in there, I came full circle and writing became again what it had been for me as a child: half about self-expression and half about connecting with an audience. 

I think that's a long-winded way to say my creativity hasn't evolved at all. I just rediscovered what I once knew instinctively and claimed it again. Me and Pablo Picasso, huh?