Archives for the month of: December, 2011

I’m committing myself to following up on one of my several ideas/snippets I’ve started.

I was thinking about the type of writing I hope to be/I feel that I am: a writer driven by character. A writer who explores what people think of themselves and what they think of each other, which ultimately is what a relationship is. You can be a different person to different people, and who is to say which is real? What does that mean for identity? Identity is something that many authors have delved into, and I think that it should be the building block of what I do.


A day off for the Boyfriend’s family holiday party. A wonderful time — I love his extended family, and they always treat me so well. I was called a “niece” last night.

A short note on hobbies.

Now that I have more time, not only do I want to devote more time to writing, but I also want to devote it to the hobbies that have fallen away. The uber-creative ones like painting, to more mechanical like jewelry design, and also taking up the quirky but very meaningful hobby of studying the Tarot cards, which I took up in the spring but it faded quickly when I started work. I bought myself a new, good deck, and I have been studying based on the little booklet that came with it, but I will also be looking for books and websites to supplement it. I hope that, like T.S. Eliot, whose Waste Land inspired me to take up the hobby in the first place, the cards and the history and spiritualism of the art will inspire my writing. Perhaps I’ll even return to my roots of poetry for some exercises.

Doing what I always do when I start this again — reading old snippets of things that I’ve written and saved (and being surprised at how not-terrible they are).

I remember writing almost all of what I find — but only once I start to read it. I may not remember when it was, or where I was when I wrote it, but I remember doing it, and usually I remember why.

I came across one very quick little snippet of a thing about a moment in time that seems forever ago. The way I captured it, it seemed perfect — and I’m sure it was, and I’m sure that’s why I wanted to write it. But the problem is, I have a few things written from the beginning of that saga, and not from the end of it. Interesting, because for another saga — the long one (although the one I’m in now is certainly taking over as the Most Important, if not already has), for that one, I only wrote in the endings, of which there were many for him. Interesting how for some relationships, some moments in time, I’m inspired to capture the perfect, wonderful moments, and for others, I’m inspired to get out on paper the pain and the relief of the endings.

Separately, that one little snippet had me thinking about those brief memories with that man. Maybe it was doomed to begin with, but he is certainly the only one who I find myself asking What If? What if the timing wasn’t wrong? What would have happened if we were slightly more mature? He is wonderful, if still somewhat immature, and a very different kind of man than My Man, which isn’t a good or bad thing. I can’t say I know exactly what went wrong. I’m sure I have closure, but still. It is interesting to wonder What If.

I will write something. I must. I’m on my own now, in an apartment in the city, with a great job… And I come home and I don’t do anything except watch back to back episodes of Mad Men on Netflix and go to bed early. And, this week, I’m off of work. I have some plans, but mostly I’m just laying around watching back to back episodes of Mad Men on Netflix.