"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible." -Vladimir Nobokov

Wednesday, October 28, 2015

Letter to October #28

Dear October,
       I've always struggled with habits. The deceptively simple act of doing something day in and day out is difficult for my flighty mind to latch on to. As I've mentioned before, I love the idea of routine. I love the simplicity of it. I crave morning tea and contemplative walks and a protected time and space for my writing. I could give you lots of excuses for why I stopped writing to you, October. I could tell you that I've been meaning to write for the past week, but every time I open my computer I feel guilty for all the days I've missed, which for some reason makes me want to write even less. I've learned that relaying excuses rarely fixes the problem. The only remedy is showing up, which is what I'm attempting to do. A little late.

I suppose a bit of catching up is in order. October, you've been both cruel and wonderful. The past couple of weeks has played off of my insecurities. For a few days, I felt completely worthless for no real reason besides disappointment in something I was putting too much of my identity into. I've been stressed beyond belief, but also humbler, more grateful, and more determined. Thanks in part to a lovely visit from my boyfriend, I'm back on stable ground. That doesn't mean things are quite where I want them to be, though. Far from it. I feel disorganized, restless, and just as scared as ever. I'm trying to be braver, to push myself in areas that I've been holding back in. I want to write more, make new friends, find some sort of community. I've been toying with a new project, standing at the edge of everything I'm comfortable with creatively, and considering diving in.

Meanwhile you've been cooling down, October, releasing some of your warmth to November's icy fingers, and today you were downright frigid. In true Iowa fashion, the wind almost nocked me off of my feet coming out of my dorm. I've decided to take it as a sign. Not a sign that things will be miraculously better. Not a sign that I'll finally stop procrastinating and write a novel/short story collection/cookbook. Just a sign of change. A sign of commitment, even the flimsiest sort. I'm starting  with a renewed resolution to post a sentence a day on the Tumblr I stared with my friend. The original goal was for me to post my favorite sentence from whatever I'd written that day, and for her to post a page from her sketchbook. Our performance at these tasks has been sporadic at best, but I'm still proud of it. I'm not promising perfection - in fact I know I'll probably fail at some point. But what I'm going to attempt to avoid is a not posting anything because I feel guilty for falling behind. Progress is progress, even if it's a little late.


Song of the Day: When the Nights Get Long by Jukebox the Ghost

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