Something good came out of this week after all

Despite the fact that I have a migraine (but without the pain, which is wacky-bo-backy), today has been a most excellent day. Today I finished the first short story I've written in seven years.

This is an enormous accomplishment for me. I have spent literally spent years petrified of writing. Even the idea of just sitting down to write made me nervous. All the little gremlins would pour out of my ears and tell me I wasn't a good writer and there was no way I'd ever be published. And I think that's what hung me up the most. I felt like I had to publish to be a writer. And that just seems so daunting, so unattainable. I'm trying to move past that thought and just write.

I stopped writing in December 2001. 2001 was a bad year for everyone, but it hit me a lot earlier than most people. Maggie, my first golden, died in March that year. I wasn't expecting it. I was away at school and she was sick and my dad had to build a ramp to get her up the deck stairs. All of the anxiety issues I'd been dealing with for eight years spun out of control. I was convinced my parents and Justin were in constant mortal danger. Maggie's death, to me, represented the mortality of everyone I loved.

And then September happened. And there isn't much to say about that except that I didn't sleep for four months. I was constantly exhausted and subsequently irrational and adgitated all the time. The only time I slept was crammed into a twin bed with Justin. I couldn't sleep unless he was touching my back.

I was in an intermediate creative writing class during that semester, taught by Tony. Tony was an amazing teacher. He was so genuine and honest and had a major problem with genre writing. He was really supportive and constantly pushed you to do better. When I came to him and said my final work for the semester would be about an *NSYNC concert, he didn't question it. He stared at me like I had three eyes, but he kept his mouth shut. I think the story turned out well. Tony actually liked it and it was pretty well received by my class.

And that's the last thing I'd written. A story about an *NSYNC concert. A kind of sad, earnest, heartbreaking story about the exact moment that you grow up. But still, the last story.

I think there are a lot of things that kept me from writing. The first, of course, was fear. I didn't have class deadlines and was just kind of flopping around, unsure of how to proceed. The second was something I'm just now realizing. September 11 was a Tuesday. I came downstairs to the dorm lounge and saw everyone crowded around the TV, including Big Jim, our janitor. Big Jim was always watching TV, so this wasn't unusual. I saw the second plane hit and thought they were watching a movie. It wasn't a movie.

So what do you do after that? We all just kind of stared at each other. And then I went to class. It was, of course, my creative writing class. I remember walking through the quad and looking up at the sky, wondering what we should do if planes started dropping bombs. We all got to class at the same time and everyone was silent. Tony said we could leave if we wanted, but we didn't have anyplace to go. And then the older guy who had just gotten out of the army and always wrote stories about being in a foxhole started raging about "them" and just an hour into this new world, nobody had a clue who "they" were. We listened to him for awhile, nobody looking directly into his face, and Tony finally cut him off and started class. After that, I guess I just associated this class with that horrible event.

And the third reason I stopped writing was Prozac. I started taking Prozac on December 29, 2001. I was at home in Iowa and Justin was visiting. I was on the last leg of a three day crying jag (I always had crying jags when Justin was visiting - it's a wonder he married me). My mom took me to the doctor - Hi, you're depressed! You've been depressed since you were 12! - I came home, took my first pill and promptly fell asleep.

In retrospect, I think writing was an outlet for my anguish and anxiety. My high school stories were always about the pretty but too-smart girl who could never get the guy (I'm embarrassed just telling you this). I was creating fantasy worlds for myself, worlds that would never exist in my real life but gave me hope nevertheless. But I found a certain peace in writing, the same way I find a calmness in writing my blog. And throughout the years, I've tried to find that peace again but never got my fingers all the way around it.

One of my favorite parts of living in the dorm was Writer's Group. We would get together on Monday nights in the second floor lounge and Kim would provide us with a prompt. We would write for a half hour or so and then share what we wrote. I was not the best writer there. Everyone was better than me, including Justin, who could write poetry like it just sprung from his fingertips. It was really humbling not to be the best at something for once, and it didn't really bother me. I felt relatively safe there and nobody ever laughed at me.

I've been really missing my college friends over the past few months, especially as my circle of friends continues to change. And I wanted to write. So I e-mailed some people from school and some friends I've made since and now we have a pretty good-sized group. I send out a prompt once a week and if people like it, they write. Share only if you want to. Now, I look forward to every Friday when I send out a new one and eagerly check our site several times a day to see if someone has written anything new.

I know I wouldn't have started writing again if it wasn't for my friends. So, thank you Dave, Clare, Kim, Margo, Anne, Julie, Dan, Adam E., Clark, Kate H., Elizabeth, Kate J., Myndi, Adam H., Dori, Kella, Rachel and Sarah. Just knowing you are there brings me so much joy.

Comments

[Rachel]

Your courage (and, of course, beautifully written story) is inspiring me to get finally write something. Every week I read the submissions and am simply amazed.

I've been feeling like I left part of myself behind at college, or maybe it was in the first couple of years after graduation. I'm so freaking old that I don't even know anymore. I'm doing exactly what I promised myself I wouldn't do: get old. This group may just be what we need to get ourselves back.