The Short and Long of It

My mind has been churning since my last writing class and I've found myself scribbling in my new turquoise Moleskine journal at every possible opportunity.  I've been a writing machine, worried that if I don't get my ideas immediately down on paper they'll suddenly float out of my brain never to be thought of again.  Mostly I've been working on fleshing out some individual characters that have been percolating in my head for a while now.  Scenarios, settings, personality ticks, and my eager anticipation to meet some of these figments of my imagination have kept me blissfully busy.  I've been sneaking off during my lunch hour to nerd out and people watch, working in spastic bouts of writing frenzy. 

My glory years in the pool....posing
with Richard Quick, head coach of
Stanford Women's Swimming in 1991.

At the end of this first set of classes, a mere four weeks from now, I have to turn in a short story of roughly 2500 words.  Granted that's only five pages, but brevity has never been my strong suit.  Growing up as a competitive swimmer, my best events were distance ones like the 1650.  While most kids begged their coaches not to make them swim sixty-six laps in a short-course pool, I couldn't wait to dive in and start the mile long crawl to the finish.  Even more shocking, I used to be able to do it in under twenty minutes (it's amazing what you can do when you are 10 years old, weigh 90 pounds and have feet two sizes larger than everyone else).  What can I say? I've always been a glutton for punishment. 

I've got to admit though, the whole concept of writing a short story makes my palms sweat a little, as memories of seventh grade English with Mr. Ryan begin to surface after almost two decades of repression.  Five pages is not a lot of room for a story to take shape.  I suppose some people would point out that five pages is entirely sufficient if you choose your words carefully, think through your character development, and have a zinger of an ending already planned out.  Having none of those things, I've got to come up with something pronto.  Taking a deep breath, I have to remind myself that even though my next writing event is more of a sprint, I'm in this for the long haul.  Luckily, I have years of training under my belt that have prepared me to go the distance. 

Taking Flight

So, I'm a bit rusty....but check out that classic styling.

They say writing is like exercising a muscle.  Like most people I spend much of my day writing work emails, texts to my loved ones, and ridiculous notes to myself on colorful post-it notes.  I don't get to exercise that creative writing muscle very often, but as of yesterday, I've made a new commitment to do so.  This time I'm actually going to do it and not let my blank notebooks gather layers of dust.  What's different this round?  Well after much encouragement from my spouse (mild threats to DO something about my dream to be a writer, rather than sit around twiddling my thumbs) I enrolled in a creative writing series at the university where I work.  Now there is more than just my pride at stake- there's the pressure in knowing that I've actually paid to be there.  My first class last night was simultaneously energizing and terrifying.  And I walked away with a ton of challenging homework for the upcoming week.  After a decent night's sleep and with my initial enthusiasm somewhat reigned in, I've been doing a lot of thinking about writing today.  Right now my creative writing skills are a bit like this rusty bicycle- I had every intention of getting out for a ride over the past few years, but somehow my ideas and my drive ended up shelved, abandoned, and left outside to rust in the rain.

Look at me Morty! No hands!

The good news is that even though I'm a bit rusty (and my first in-class writing assignment sounded worse than the romantic gibberish I used to write in high school), I'm actually taking my writing out for a spin.  Sure, I need some TLC, but at least I'm mostly intact.  In no time I'll be cruising around like this fabulous Edwardian lady- confident, jaunty, and with a killer pair of boots.  I have a story (a series, really) that wants to be born.  But before that happens, I have to put in the time, exercise those writing muscles and learn to trust myself.  I need this outlet in my life.  I've suffered from significant amounts of stress, loss, and grief over the past few years, which depleted every last ounce of my creative elixir.  But 2012 is a new year and I'm ready to reclaim my imagination, my dreams, and my sense of humor.

I know that one day in the not too distant future my internal writing machine will take flight.  I imagine myself as this fire-haired goddess, chasing my dreams through the cosmos, bounded only by the limits of my imagination and my faith in myself.