I think a lot about writing purely for low-stakes fun (e.g. this blog) and how I don't do it as often as I'd like anymore. I still keep a journal, which fulfills my need for personal reflection, but I miss pursuing more of the random ideas that spark into something more worthwhile than a Facebook message, but less tangible than a short story. The things this blog used to be full of.
A big part of this has to do with my being in graduate school (where I've been for over a year), where such writing is hardly encouraged (long story), and social pressures tend to favor a more professional discourse of literary fiction (if such a term even has meaning anymore) published in magazines of note (or those that purport to be of note) to build one's CV (which, unlike a one-page employment resume, concerns itself chiefly with length). Before graduate school, before work on the novel even, I made more time for this blog and for other low-stakes writing that kept the ideas flowing, kept me writing actively. I spend more time writing now than I did then, though most of what I do now is novel- or larger project-related work, which in many ways I find disappointing.
Does this shift represent a maturing move toward more important endeavors, or a dwindling of my creative energy in favor of a more regimented structure? To even phrase the problem in this way disgusts me. Why can't I continue to work on a myriad of projects, fitting each one into its proper place on a smaller or larger scale that suits that individual idea?
Time, mostly. There's never enough time.
Have to keep trying, though.