The Apartment Dweller Lives

I am officially moved into my apartment.

I didn’t actually end up unpacking much until this morning, but I’m not quite sure what exactly I spent the four hours between when my parents left and when I finally fell asleep doing. A lot of spacing out, a little TV, and there may or may not have been chocolate involved.

I’m going to be doing plenty of writing during the next week (hence the reason(s) I’m here so early), but I haven’t worked on my memoir in what feels like forever, and tonight might be a good night to do so. I don’t usually admit to homesickness. I guess I’m not really homesick. Just caught in the in-between again.

But hey, at least I have coffee. And books. And a nice warm bed.

 

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Don’t judge my stuffed animal. She makes me feel loved.

I had a really good story idea the other day (I think it was while I was doing laundry in the midst of packing to come back to school), but of course I can’t remember what it was. I’m almost afraid I’ll get an obnoxious buildup of ideas while I’m working on all my yearbook/newspaper/internship responsibilities and develop some kind of Stressed Writer’s Syndrome.

There would be no cure.

Just – please – don’t let me try to start another novel. The universe can’t handle that much Meg. I can’t even handle what I have now, and I’m ME.

Love&hugs, Meg<3

The Idea Bank

No writing today – yet. Sometimes I just cannot push through the lack of motivation to sit down and start typing something out, and today must be one of those days. I cleaned my room, edited a few articles, weeded a garden, spun a flag, ate some food and fed my cat. Basically, I’ve done everything under the sun EXCEPT write. But is this really a bad thing?

No. And let me tell you why.

My brain, when functioning normally, works this way: think, think about doing, think about not doing, think about thinking, think about deciding, do. I’m the type to consider something from all angles before making a decision or acting on a desire – I’m a pro/con list-maker like Rory, without a doubt. Acting on impulse is just not how I tend to roll.

When it comes to writing, it’s a very similar process. Think about my story, think about writing some of it, think about what will happen if I don’t, think about why I’m thinking so much about imaginary people, think about taking the plunge, sitting down and writing, then – finally – write. Sometimes my stories will float around in my head for months before I actually get around to writing them down. I’ve had a particular dystopian trilogy idea shoved into a corner up there for about a year and a half now. Have I forgotten it? Nope. In fact, every once in awhile, a new idea for it comes to mind. I put it with the others and move on.

Why do I do this? Because I’m a college student with two majors and multiple extracurricular involvements. Though I may be a writer, that doesn’t mean I free write every day. I literally don’t have the time. What I do partake in is scribbling – a few lines of a poem at the bottom of my medical nutrition therapy notes is a very common find in my school notebooks. A few lines of rapid-fire dialogue end up on the Notes app in my phone sometimes, too. I use November and July as my novel months – sometimes that’s all I need. As much as I would love to write book after book throughout the year, it’s just not probable. I don’t sleep a lot, but I am human, and I do need it on a regular basis – no matter how much I wish I didn’t.

A long time ago, all I wanted to do was write. All day, every day, for the rest of my life. As a career. I’m not saying I don’t want that now – to be able to write as often as I want to with little distractions. But I’ve also learned that what makes a great writer is an individual with life experience. Practicing writing techniques is great, but you can’t write a great story if  that’s all you’ve ever done. Since adding another area of study onto my English major, I have learned more about myself than I ever would have with my head buried in literature twenty-four-seven. (That still happens – but that’s not where it stops).

Being able to keep my ideas contained until I’m ready (and able) to let them expand out onto paper is not a trait I take advantage of. I think my brain is always coming up with little things – a location here, a character’s insecurity there. I simply deposit them into my idea bank, the section of my brain no one but me could ever access or understand. If I spent all my time writing down everything that came to mind, I wouldn’t have time for life.

And I love my life. I love it more than anything.

Yes, friends. These are the tales of a dedicated college novelist.

Love&hugs, Meg<3