Homecoming

Ms. Dorothy Parker, one of the greats and one of my idols

I first began to write when I was nine. I was given an assignment by my 4th grade teacher, Mr. Lang, and I wrote a fanciful short story based on the Greek myths showcased in the now-campy Clash of the Titans. My best friend would draw the pictures and I would write the text and we’d publish a book someday. I continued writing novellas and novels until nearly 10 years ago. After that, it was exercises with my students, poetry, and yes, blogs.

My relationship to writing is not unlike my real-life relationships. Sometimes, I want and need to telenovela proportions. Other times I’m aloof and distant. Writing and I break to make up. We play is-you-is-or-is-you-ain’t. Sometimes, we don’t speak for years, months, weeks. I miss writing as if it were my best friend or my family when it’s not in my life. Still, I do a damn good job of placing it on the back burner when the mood suits me. I have a lot to learn.

These past months have been a time of silence. My voice and mind have been going, going, going but have not been captured on paper or in cyberspace. My job and my schedule have taken precedence over reflection and creation. I have lost my dog, one of my best friends, my naivete about the educational system, and my hopes over a crush gone bad. Fortunately, I haven’t lost my sense of humor or genuine need to express myself. I have often thought of my third novel, how a thorough revision and kick-ass query letter may get it off the ground. I want to write a new villanelle or maybe even a spoken word poem.

The other night, I told a friend that I seek to control. So much of my energy is spent planning, second-guessing, analyzing, trying to gain control of situations and my own emotions. It’s time to walk off the proverbial diving board, back into hope and back into the written word. It’s what I am.

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