finding my writing voice…

I tried writing a post the other day but then realized that people might be watching who might not be as in tune with what I am saying, or might think it’s a bit too raw for the audience I might eventually be writing for.

I wrote about exes and men not behaving well and just let the raw side of me come out. This edginess is not really necessary for writing about my visit to the local bakery, but it can be when you want to lay down the law for a man who is pursuing you a bit too aggressively, and disrespectfully.

In a way I honour that bit of edginess because really it is the language of survival. Without it I’d be in a world of hurt.

I had approached the local area BIA and offered to write about, or advertise my experiences with the local restaurants; however COVID is on the rise again.

Some people think it’s a minor illness; other’s like myself know the risk of becoming extremely ill, and dying. It’s no joke to me. So I respect the rules and just try to be aware of my surroundings.

Moving away from Toronto during a pandemic has been a sort of surreal trip. Things are not quite open, and some coffee shops and restaurants will not let you go inside. The occasional trip to a patio is as far as I will go.

I like to visit these places but they may batten the hatches yet again. In the meantime, writing is sort of helping me make sense of things. It is kind of like navigating an alien landscape because in the past I would just go somewhere, and meet people but my choices are limited and sometimes- especially with someone who is behaving disrespectfully- my patience gets worn thin.

I move to a knew place and I no longer learn about the place through seeing the faces of people, and the workers in the shops. Recognizing them is hard when you’re usually wearing a mask.

Staying in touch with family, even the odd meetup where I can socially distance on a walk is good.

So writing is helpful when times are uncertain.

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