I Lost My Love of Writing For Fun, and Found It Again

Cause honestly, writing takes discipline, and who has that?

For as long as I can remember, I’ve participated in the infamous NapoWriMo. The time of year when everyone writes a poem every day in the month of April. If nothing else, it meant that I would have 30 new poems to submit, use for larger projects, use as inspiration, or do whatever I wanted, really.

Earlier in my career, I was jazzed about it months in advance. I would get my Google Doc prepped like doing kegels before a sexy, sultry night. That’s how ready I was! When the time came, I committed fully, too. I would carve out an hour every night to crank out some fire lines, even if it was just a few each time. I prided myself on the fact that I completed all 30 like clockwork every year. At the end, it was like a badge of honor.

One year, I used Rachel McKinnens’ daily writing prompt site to successfully finish all 30 gems. I was so proud. Another year, I paired up with friends and we challenged each other by doing accountability calls and check-ins. It helped that I’m married to a poet and in a local community of amazing poets who all participate in NapoWriMo religiouly. Every time April 30th rolled around, and we’d make it to our last poem, it felt like we were crossing some 10k finish line, being good stewards of our craft by pushing beyond our limits. We'd share our pieces, make comments, and critique them—man, I miss that feeling.

By far, the most memorable year was when my 30 for 30's became my first chapbook. Then my next set of 30 for 30 poems were so strong, I included some of them in my MFA application packet. But after I graduated with my MFA and released my first full-length collection, my worst fear came true.

Don’t make writing a career, without knowing the consequences.

My mentor and therapist always say, don't make your hobby your career. Well, so much for that, you two! We're way past that stop on this trip.

Year one of my book being out in the world, I was like a bullet train leaving the station with blinders on—going from writing deadlines to nonprofit work, to readings, to community tasks and home chores, with no time for self work. Now, looking back, I became a workaholic without even knowing it. Days spent finally looking up from my computer at 8pm. Sometimes I'd go five plus hours without getting up from my desk—so locked in the writing I had to do for work at the magazine or for other literary obligations that I skipped all my needed breaks and self-care moments. Soon my physical and mental health was all out of wack, chile.

When I actually got serious about my professional writing career, squeezing in “leisure writing” started to feel like a chore, or even an annoyance. I simply didn't have the space or capacity for it. This loss definitely didn’t happen over night, though. It was gradual. I looked up and wasn't happy anymore— it's like a grief to suddenly realize the thing you've revolved your whole life around, doesn't allow room for joy anymore.

If you're not careful, the joy will fade

In the first year of being a debut author, I tried to continue the tradition of NaPoWriMo and completed 75% of the challenge— still clinging to what little time I had for pleasure activities. The next year, I got half way through the month and gave up, forfeiting that time to make space for seemingly more pressing responsibilites. Then after that, I saw my desire for participating start to decrease more and more. The love for extracurricular writing phased out and faded like ink on water stained paper. Time for “writing for fun” became sparse. Days were spent pushing towards deadlines and completing writing that HAD to be done, which meant less time was available for that laid-back, sit on your porch in the sun with a journal, joyful writing, ya know?

Years passed, and I would see other poets online posting their poems and there was a bit of envy of that extra time and mental space they wielded like a sword. While I was busy “grinding” towards the next big project, preparing for talks and seminars, I looked up and realized I had lost a part of myself. The happiness I used to have—the careless freedom of writing for fun—had evaporated, particles floating above me that I couldn't reach. Eventually, I let myself get wrapped up in the idea that achieving was more important than my joy. (I blame capitalism!)

Pleasure writing is a discipline

Now that I'm almost done with book two, I’m starting to believe that writing for pleasure won’t exist as frequently as I’d like in this phase of life. Writing for fun must become a discipline. Those mandatory tasks will always seem more important, so journaling, jotting down fun phrases, or writing quick “just because” poems will rarely happen unless I force myself to sit, be still, and just enjoy. It sounds strange that we have to make ourselves lean into happiness, but it's true. And honestly, pleasure writing is just so good for the mind, body, and soul. When I need a push and kick in the pants to get back to pleasure, I join writing groups, go to workshops, find fun prompts, attend in-person poetry slams and readings, and get together with my people for joyful inspiration.

Do it, anyway

This year, like every year, I watched my husband participate in 30 for 30 and saw how it grows and expands his craft. I see how pushing himself to write something every day has strengthened his skills. Even on long, stressful days when patience and time are thin, he says, “Ima do it anyway.” I'm learning that when you're dedicated to the craft, you have to do it anyway. Even when you don’t feel like doing anything at all. (Let's face it, most days we won't feel like it.)

Did I do NapoWriMo this year? Sadly, no, but it's never too late. I decided this is the last year I skip the challenge I used to hold so dear. Each year, the goal is to return to some type of happy-filled daily writing exercise, even if I don't finish. I think back to Jami Attenberg’s 1,000 words of Summer. How the mission is to write 1,000 words a day in hopes of being closer to completing your next body of work. That takes discipline. What I’m learning is: to write for joy might require some discipline and resilience in this season, too.

Now that I’m a full time writer, writing for fun will certainly take intentionality. Like all good things. Just like doing my daily yoga and meditation, eating what’s good for my body, reading, walking a mile. Like all the things I’m determined to do this year, pleasure writing also has to become a part of my self-love practice. Something I do anyway. Despite how I feel. In the end it’s always worth it.

Khalisa Rae is an award-winning author, activist, and storyteller. As a queer rights advocate and community builder, she seeks to uplift Black queer voices. She is the author of the poetry collection, Ghost in a Black Girl's Throat and the sold-out play production, Seven Deadly Sins of Being a Woman. An accomplished performer, journalist, and playwright, her writing has been featured in countless literary journals and magazines, including Pinch, PANK, Autumn House, Jezebel, Blavity, and NBC-BLK. Her impactful work has received a Appalachian Arts and Entertainment Award, a Gwendolyn Brooks Prize, and multiple Pushcart nominations, among others. She is the founder of Think in Ink Literary Collective, the WOC Speak reading series, and a co-founder of the Griot and Grey Owl Black Southern Writers Conference. Khalisa Rae's YA novel in verse, Unlearning Eden is forthcoming.