Tuesday, July 26, 2011

"This isn't so bad"

This post will not be about writing per say. Maybe once I'm through I will connect it back to one of my many stories. But right now I want to talk about life. I work in a small town, and am farther away from my family than I have been in my life. I have also been gone from home longer than I've ever been. Every day has a routine in my life down here, and I do honestly enjoy it. I miss my friends, but that's to be expected.

My best friend keeps making excuses not to come visit me, even though she's only a few hours away by car. And yesterday my other friend came down to visit me by herself. And it was fantastic. We walked on the beach, got to use the carjack for the first time, and had Mexican food for dinner. Then we went back to the house and talked.

And as all girls do, our talk turned to boys. I am what you might call a serial monogamist. Not in the creepy, I-jump-into-serious-relationships-with-every-average-Joe kind of of way, but I've been in three long term relationships (well, long for my age group). And the most recent one ended with me in tears and hurting more than I ever have in my life  (excepting the time I broke my ankle in gymnastics, but that is a different sort of pain).

And it got me thinking about how I feel now, five months later. Do I still miss the guy who left me? I don't know. Do I wish things had ended differently or at all? Again I don't know. And I hate not knowing. What I do know is that my life is a happy one. I may not see my parents all that much, and my friends might already be drifting away from me. But I can say with certainty that I am content. And despite being a serial monogamist, I am okay with being alone.

Now to tie it back in to writing as I said I'd try to. I have started and stopped writing several books. One romance novel I had written 80 pages of was lost in a computer crash. And I had really liked the story. There is an element of romance in most of the things I write. And I wonder why that is. Is it because I myself have had so many romance-esque parts of my life that it leaks through accidentally? Or is it because all of my relationships have ended that I want to write a happy ending for people I can not, and never will, meet?

I don't have answers. But I hope that my pain, as it has with so many writers, will fuel my novels and add clarity and promote sympathy within readers. And at the same time my contentment with being alone will make my characters seem strong, as I so often wish I could be, and able to stand by themselves, look around and say:

"This isn't so bad."

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