Christian with an E

Who Took the Clap Out of the Clap Clap?

Writing is weird. It’s so personal, every line of it. I’m sitting in my kitchen. This is my favorite place to write. I wake up earlier than my husband. He’s most definitely a night owl, but I love the quiet of the morning. Usually I’ll have a cup of coffee, but on Sunday’s I drink my coffee with Jason before he goes uptown to work. I’m feeling a little off today. I’m starting to get hungry. Hunger brings on writer’s block. Actually, when I’m hungry everything goes to pieces. My world collapses. I also haven’t written in few days and now that I’ve finally sat down I can see that I need to do at least a little bit everyday if I want to make this work. I must persevere. I’ve been saying that I was going to start writing something for years now and so I feel like I have to finally act on my words. 

Every time I start to think “why am I doing this? Is there a point?” an image of my friend Kent pops up in my head. He’s a literary agent and I want to prove to him once and for all that I can do this, but I’m feeling a little rusty.

I had always thought I would be a writer. I loved writing in high school and even took an evening writing class at the University of Iowa. Once in my early twenties, when I was going through an intense period of constant panic attacks and trying to quell the little voice inside my head that was repeatedly telling me to go kill myself, I called a suicide hotline. The woman who answered the phone sounded completely exasperated like I’d called to ask for a dentist’s appointment in the middle of the night. One of the questions she asked me, in I guess an attempt to try to calm me down was, “What do you want to do with your life?”

“I want to be a writer” I said.

Her response? “Well you’d better get used to it then!”

I hung up and retreated to the bathroom to tie a bath towel around my neck as tight as I could. With that little bit of relief, I went to bed and actually slept quite soundly for the first time in many weeks.

When I moved to New York I quit writing. I decided that it wanted to be a visual artist. I kept a journal but it was mostly filled with stuff about bad dates, nights out with friends and ideas for clothes. After a while I even quit writing a journal.

So here I am back again trying to write. Maybe it’s just an exercise to help me better understand myself or maybe it will become something more. Who knows, but I hope you’ll stick with me and I hope in the process you’ll be at least somewhat entertained.

 

*** on an odd side note, the photo I chose to illustrate this post came with this quote. (I'm trying my best to be persistent.)

The most interesting thing about a postage stamp is the persistence with which it sticks to its job. – Napoleon Hill