It started on Sunday. We left Berkeley: my boyfriend, sister, and I. We drove to Reno, Nevada first and stayed the night. Then came Utah, Wyoming, Nebraska, etc. etc. etc. Slept in Chicago, spent an afternoon in Ann Arbor and arrived in Toronto on Thursday afternoon. We were greeted by my boyfriend’s family and had some home made pizza. Pizza never tasted so good. Especially after having crap snacks on the road.
It’s been quite an adventure. We are here until Sunday morning when we will continue our adventure on the road back to California.
Being on the road (and away from the madness that has become my life because of…well, post graduation blues, frankly) has allowed me to contemplate on the next steps in my future. The next steps as a writer, as a person, and as a woman. What a mouthful. Aren’t all these titles somewhat similar? You might ask, and I will say—YES and NO. It’s been a difficult transition…wow, I’m so OATMEAL tonight. Obviously I can’t sleep. It’s three in the morning here in Toronto, but in LA it is 12:05 AM—and this post counts as a midnight express.
I’ve been collecting my thoughts and re-arranging them. What do I want to do after I come back from Paris in August? I think to myself. What are my options?
To help me figure things out, I’ve been writing by hand (if you haven’t done this in a while, Reader, I suggest you do). In the process of doing this, I’ve realized a few things about my writing. One, I write best when I start by hand. Two, I tend to ramble and digress. Three, sometimes my message gets lost in floweriness. If you don’t know what flowering is…well, it’s all that fancy mumbo-jumbo we writers do in order to elaborate mundane details and make them sound fantastic…when they are really just, well, mundane details. Yet, it’s in these small details that I find great moments of reality and truth.
I suppose I am exploring the truth behind my writing right now. Is there a meaning behind it? Should there be a methodological system I must operate under? I don’t have all the answers right now, but at least I am exploring some possibilities. I wonder how far I can push myself in this exploration process. When I write the words depart me. They leave my mind and stick to a page. They taunt me with their materialized presence. What next? What next? WHAT NEXT?! As if I knew. But you do know! says the muse in my head, but I don’t believe her. I suppose I have to learn to trust.
Writing can be such sweet sorrow.