When I wrote daily, I took it for granted. There was a magical place
that opened up to me as I sat at my keyboard. Life away from my desk didn't bother me as
much then. I knew who I was and what I was doing if not why I was doing
it. I went along like that for a while, and then I started to change. I
met someone who would have a profound impact on my life, and like so
many others who came before, I lost him. It wasn't messy, we're
still friends, but we both know that things have changed. I quit writing
after that, and am just now returning.
While I was writing I put together a fragmented book that I let sit
while I was taking a break from life as I had known it then. To make a
very long story quite short, after I stopped writing I started going
through my house. We threw a lot away, sold some things, bought art
work, and made a point of family meals, story times, and I really
enjoyed brushing the lavender scented strands of my daughter's hair
after her bath. I kept going to the chiropractor. I started taking walks
outside, my credit card debt dwindled until it became a shadow of its
former self.
The other day a friend of mine asked about my book. I sent him the
first chapter, and he said that certain parts were funny. I didn't tell
him I had rewritten most of it. I've always been able to write quickly, I
tend to write without thinking, words come to me as the characters
talk. I feel the scene, as if I am suddenly two or more people talking,
and I don't know any other way to produce fiction so that's what I stick
with when I write. Slowly my old life is returning. I sat at the
computer until it was time to pick the girls up at school. I missed my
exit, arrived late, came home, and threw some lunch together.
I no longer know how to mesh the progress I've made with my love of
writing. As I read the things I've written I'm both horrified and
gratified. Horrified that my mind was capable of churning out such
darkness, and gratified that I'm no longer at the place that I was. Two
friends of mine were talking the other day. One of them said she needed
to tell just one person about the things she was really thinking and
feeling. We had a refreshing conversation, and I felt better after a bit
of soul bearing honesty amongst women I admire and respect. It's funny
how what I feared most turned out being what I needed to face to grow. I
hope this is a new habit of mine.