There is a lovely satisfied type of feeling that comes from sitting down and writing for an hour and a half without a break. I love my writing class. I love it. Even if it's only working on a paper, it's letting me write and helping me find ways to get past my blocks and my recent hesitancy about writing. It's so wonderful.
One of the things in the most recent chapter of our writing textbook says that you ought to find a place to be the place you always go when you write. I rather like that idea. The place I selected this morning was kind of at random, and it was before I read that, but I think I may keep it as my writing place. It's the last table on the main floor of the library, sitting and facing a shelf full of reference books. It's quiet all the time, but most especially in the mornings. It's well lit and the books make me happy. I love being around books.
So I have a spot to write in. Having written anything for an hour and a half--in this case it was working on an outline and summary for a paper for the class--makes me feel like I could just keep writing. Maybe that's why I'm writing in here. Maybe that's why this hasn't been an entry that's just a single line long.
Just last night I was talking to a couple of different people about how frustrated I feel that I can't write anymore, not even in my diary. The fact that an exercise for a class has helped me (at least for today) break past that is so wonderful to me. For those of you reading this who don't write, or have never been at a point in your lives where you write on a regular, daily basis, you can't understand what it's like when you lose that. When you fall out of the habit of daily writing. I used to spend an hour a day writing poetry, consistently. Since stopping, I've gotten out of touch, I've lost practice. Now I feel almost like maybe I could try doing it again.
So yes, it's true, when you get one idea, more tend to follow it. Once you break the ice you can just keep writing, and oh my word, it feels good.
Speaking of things I was talking to people about last night, Andrew and I had quite the serious talk yesterday evening. I won't go into it here, for it's nothing that I particularly feel like sharing with the vast majority of the world at this moment, but it was a good conversation, I think. In fact, I'm sure it was a good conversation, and I'm rather happy with the aftermath of it so far, though there hasn't been much time to analyze that.
I also had a very strange conversation with my dad last night. When I say strange, that's really all I mean. It was a good conversation, but it was completely out of character for both of us. Dad and I never talk about any personal stuff and yet there we were discussing some of the things closest to my heart right now. To say that what we were talking about was intensely personal is an understatement.
Dad gets uncomfortable talking about that sort of thing. I get even more uncomfortable with it than he does. And yet we talked about it quite well last night, I wasn't uncomfortable at all. So what does that mean? Am I getting all mature? Is my relationship with my father/parents improving?
Well, I hope so.
At any rate, that was a good conversation too, though the conversation I had with my mother following it was not quite as satisfactory. It was on the same subject, but nowhere near as comfortable and open.
Indeed, I find myself as I think about it wanting to say "well dad said this, and he said it first, so why should I listen to you?" but I don't feel I should. It's a frustrating situation, when one parent tells you that he thinks the place you're at is a fine one to be in, and the other parent tells you that she thinks you're rushing ahead of yourself and being ridiculously premature and that you shouldn't be saying the things you're saying.
And my mother wonders why I don't like talking to her about personal things? Maybe it's because half the time when I'm open with her she tells me that I shouldn't be thinking what I'm thinking and that she never thought that way at her age. Or she says that she did think that way and proceeds to elaborate why it was a terrible thing that she did. I love my mother, and I respect her deeply, but I find her difficult to talk to. Very much so. Even moreso than my father.
While she didn't say it in so many words, my mother last night basically told me that it's unseemly of me to develop a strong affection for a certain person right now, that she thinks it's premature and that if I had any self control it wouldn't have happened, because those things are entirely and 100% an act of will.
Now, I do agree that there is a good deal of the will involved in one's feelings for another person. However, I also think that there are other factors. For instance, if there's zero physical attraction it's very hard to be in love with someone. If you don't respect a person, how can you force yourself to be in love with them?
My mother and I see differently about many things, but we're both stubborn about them. Sometimes we disagree. At any rate, I love my mother and I am keeping what she said in mind, though I disagree and since she didn't actually see my conversation with my dad, I think he's better equipped than she to judge where I stand, since he's the person who read the detailed explanation of it.
Grrr.
No, I'm not really mad at all. Just got things on my mind.
It's funny, I didn't sleep much last night. I got to bed around 2 and woke up and quarter to 9 on purpose so as not to sleep in and throw off my sleep schedule, blah blah blah. But I feel quite awake. The writing did that, in some part, I think. I got back in touch with my ideas a little bit. I wrote about something that got me excited. How long has it been since that's happened? I can't even remember the last time I got excited over writing.
And look at me! I'm still writing! I'm just writing in my diary for the sake of writing now. For the sake of communication. Because I have ideas again. Because I feel like I've got my mind woken up after being asleep for a few months. I'm not sure if it feels entirely rested, but it does feel like it's got some ideas it's ready to have again. This is so nice.
I'd forgotten how wonderful it is to just be able to write without worrying that it's going to be inadequate or imperfect. Just to sift through the ideas, to mentally watch them appear seemingly out of nowhere. It's amazing.
Mmm. I'm going to go eat lunch. And then I'm going to my writing class and telling Dr. Price that his class is the most wonderful thing ever for forcing me to write.
To Andrew, Leif, Steve and Phil, thank you so much for listening to me complain about this last night. Those of you who pray and prayed for me, it helped.
Love,
Beth
today, too?