Creatively Bankrupt

I used to be struck with sudden inspiration all the time. I could hear a song, read a quote, smell something, see something, etc. Off of one of those things, I’d already have a chapter written out in my head. I find it so strange that now that I really want to write and post short stories for others consumption, I’m creatively bankrupt. It’s frustrating too, and I’m not sure I can even call it writers block since I haven’t really begun to write. Lol.

Oh, well that actually isn’t completely true. I’ve played around with a few characters and a few story lines. Thus far though, I haven’t gotten more than one or two paragraphs into anything. I’m not sure how to feel because this is all really new to me (writing for others to read outside of a classroom) so of course I thought I’d ask everyone that reads this and happens to write themselves how they do it. I know that everyone lacks inspiration at times but my well is DRY and its becoming alarming. Haha, no not really. It’s annoying, though.

I think that in the week I’m going to take a new approach to it. When I was younger, I would come up with my characters first. Their names, physical appearances and backstories would always be incredibly detailed. Then I would move onto how they were connected. Next would be their homes. Then and only then could a story start for me. I’m not sure why I’ve shied away from that particular method. In my mind, I believe it seems like it isn’t the way to go because I was so young so I’ve equated it with juvenile writing. Why my thoughts are like that I have no idea because it doesn’t make sense. What works, well…works. That was working for me then so I don’t see why it wouldn’t work for me now. Also, I did start writing on actual notebook paper yesterday and got pretty far. That was an interesting find because for so long I have been exclusively drafting on computers only. I couldn’t tell you the last time I drafted anything on paper after the age of like 10 even for school. When I was writing on the paper, it seemed like the ideas were just flowing from my mind. They made a full circuit through my body, sat in my heart for a bit and then shot through my right hand, through the pen onto the paper. I haven’t felt that in so long, so it was like home. Sadly, I got interrupted (I was at work) so I stopped. I haven’t looked at my notebook since (this was yesterday), but hopefully when I do I will be able to pick right back up where I left off.

I also think that I’m going to try to write in some different environments and times throughout the day to see how that effects me. I know that I am in my zone when I’m in a quiet place, with something to drink like tea or a frappe and the sun beaming through the window that I’m writing next to. Unfortunately in Wisconsin that can only really happen for three months out of the year. So, while I’m still here, I’m going to have to figure out what my other happy places are.

What do you guys do to help you with inspiration? Please leave me a suggestion below. I can’t wait to get some stories up for you all. Also, what do you think would be better? One full short story at a time, chapters, etc? Let me know!

Good vibes to you all,



The Gems of Jas

I am not sure how many of you read any of my old posts or really keep up with me at all for that matter, but if you do you’ll notice that I deleted everything. I’ve always loved to write. Recently due to a lot of self reflection, I have come to realize that I feel the most free when I’m writing. When I feel free I am able to be a better me. I’m able to be the best me actually. Freedom for me is love. With that being said, writing is and always has been my one, TRUE calling. I want to be a writer and share all of these different parts of myself with the world through my writing. This is why I deleted my old posts. They didn’t feel free at all. They didn’t feel like me. Thinking about them even now has me tensing up because they were just so…off. The issue was that I was trying to write for others instead of for myself. That ultimately led to me creating blog posts that were incredibly generic. When I read them they just seem to try too hard. They weren’t representative of me at all. I don’t want to get too much into why that is or why I felt that I had to do that. That’s a story for another time. But I do want to declare that from this day forward I do consider myself to be a REAL writer. I will write with love and authenticity. I will write with care for the art and the heart of it all. I will write for me, and in turn I hope you all are able to get a few gems from it. After all, this is the Gems of Jas.

Thank you. Always.

Jas L. H.

To My Unnamed Angel

My heart aches for my little girl and what could have been or what could still be.

My heart aches for that perfect, round face. Those large, round eyes and that perfect little swoop that rises from that mess of hair on her head.

You see, my little girl is perfect. I know all mothers say that, but I think my case is a little different because I’m not a mother. But my little girl, though. My little girl is perfect. My little baby is perfect. Maybe she’s only so perfect because she only came to me in a dream. I only know her from my dream. My very, very VIVID dreams of my baby, my labor & pregnancy.

My pregnancy. Oh, how I long for my pregnancy. The dreams don’t make it any better. They’re so real. I don’t feel any of the pain of labor in them, but all of the emotion that comes with that first look at what you made. What you did. Your baby. My little girl. My baby.

Did I mention she’s beautiful? So alert. So smart. I can tell from her eyes. As I stared at her sitting up in her crib staring back at me, I noticed every detail all the way down to the little white nightgown she was wearing. My little girl was perfect. Is perfect? Will be perfect? Hopefully I get to even have MY little girl. You see, I love her so much already that it hurts. The dreams are bliss while they’re going on, but when I wake up I’m left with all the love and all of the empty because I’m not holding my little girl. My little girl. My little baby. My perfect baby. I hope that she is meant to represent what’s to come and not what has come to pass. Because oh how my heart ACHES for my little girl. I miss her when I don’t think I ever even knew her. I miss her face, how her weight feels in my arms, her cuddles, her smell, her smile and her laugh. I hate that I’m not with my little girl. I miss my little girl. I want my little girl. I want to be the mommy that I am in my dreams because I get to be her mommy. That’s why I can’t bare the thought of her being a relic of a past that never got to exist. I instead keep hope that she is a representation of the future. My beautiful baby, my perfect little girl. She deserves to live. She deserves to breathe & know my love because I promise it’s as deep as any ocean, as vast as any universe and as real as anything you can touch, taste, see, hear or smell. My little girl. She belongs to me. Then, now and always. My beautiful little girl.