Writing...or lack thereof

When I was visiting home (backwards way of putting that) this weekend, my friend Billy asked me what I’ve been doing with all my free time as of late. I flippantly replied that I watch HBO, catch up on “Gossip Girl” reruns. Sometimes I make muffins. He cocked his eyebrow a little bit, in that way that totally infuriates me ‘cause I know he’s right before he even opened his mouth and said “Why don’t you write?”

Why doesn’t Stephanie write?

I meant to all summer. I know my writing teacher from last year would probably throw a (small) fit if she found out, which she just may now. Regardless, I meant to write all summer. Meaning to doesn’t equal actually sitting down and making myself write, no matter how silly or mundane the product may be. I can think of two instances this summer in which I wrote. No, three.

1.) I followed my writing teacher’s advice and sat down every night for about a week and just wrote straight for twenty minutes. I was homeless at the time (my lease was up on my apartment, but I didn’t want to leave my job, plus I hadn’t been hired on at my current job yet so I was staying in a friend’s apartment while he was gone for the summer) and I think I was motivated by the fact that I had nothing else to do. My writing entries mostly consisted of my boy troubles, as I’m so often teased about. Those boys are a couple of fickle mistresses, if you will. But they certainly provide material. Besides, it was summertime… I equate boy writing with beach books.

2.) After a friend got married at the end of June, I started a story about her wedding. I think I listened to “I’m Not the Bride” by Trick Pony about 100 too many times this summer because that story quickly took on an anti-marriage tone awful quickly. I would like to finish it, however. I think it is interesting how half my writing takes on the men in my life and how they drive me nuts (fine, it is singular: how he drives me nuts) but how ridiculous it is that so many people I know are getting married at 19-23 years of age. For reals? With one couple as an exception…you don’t even know who you are yet. Anyway, before I piss glowing brides off, I am moving on.

3.) I wrote four letters before I moved out of my college town. Three went to friends, one went to a mentor of mine in town. I had two weeks warning that I was leaving and though I wrote and rewrote all four letters in my head several times over that two weeks, they all got actually written in the scramble between packing and trying to suck as much time as I could from everyone that last week. Regardless, I spent a lot of time, energy and heart on those letters. I wanted to make sure everyone knew how much they meant to me. That was a priority for me before I left.

So why am I not writing now? I’m not even reading. I wonder if it is because I am a non-fiction writer by nature. Writing, right now, will take on everything I just left when really, I want more than anything to just be happy and settle here. I could write about here, but I haven’t really been here long enough to reflect on what’s happened so far. That, and none of it is that interesting. Writing fiction and poetry has never appealed to me so much. I can just take a break, can’t I? My last two semesters of school drained all my creative energies – you should see those portfolios I produced though.

I guess you could chalk it all up to that fact that I’m still settling in here, in my new life. I’m still unpacking odds and ends, still arranging furniture to my liking. I don’t even have a kitchen table or a desk yet. Everything’s still in transition, like it has been for over two months now. Maybe when I feel like I have a home again, that’s all mine, then I’ll start writing. Again.