On The March

Now that I'm free to leave, I settle in and put things on my walls.

It’s hard to catch up when I only post once every six months, and so many important things seem to happen in between.  I’ll spare you all the details.  Here’s the rundown:

I went to visit my best friend in New Orleans in the middle of the semester and it rekindled my lust for the road.  Everything felt possible and I wanted to cut off all of my hair.  Instead, I went back to school and drab routine and forgot about a lot of the inspiration I found in a new place.

A string of strange events occurred, including a tree falling on my car and my knee cap dislocating from my leg.

I finally graduated from UNM in December.  I wasn’t sure I would survive it, since my burning hatred of that institution made me want to self-destruct.  Thankfully, I was able to turn off my brain long enough for them to put a Bachelor’s of Creative Writing in my hands.

I got comfortable.  Being free, I finally made peace with Albuquerque and being alone and settled into my apartment, putting things up on the walls.  Just in time to leave.

A mirror. She changes with the seasons. This time she's a little nervous, maybe sad to be saying goodbye to her hometown for a while.

This complete freedom and the fact that I am accountable only to myself leads to a terrifying infinity of choices, which leads to inaction.  But I’m caught in the stifling gaze of Albuquerque.  Twenty-four years of expectations and perceptions.  If I don’t get out of here for a while at least, it will swallow me.

So, here I am, stuck in the real world with the abstract conviction that I should be doing some kind of “good work,” and I don’t have school as an excuse for my laziness and indecision anymore.  I made a resolution that I would read something, write something, and play an instrument for a while every day.  So far this has been going fairly well.

Why do I think you will care about all this?  I don’t.  The thing is, I’ve joined this thing one of my writer friends started up called Writer’s March.  Think NaNoWriMo, but less scary.  It’s a month of personal writing goals and challenges.  My goal is to write creatively for at least an hour a day.  High school style journaling doesn’t count, (though I still do it, and believe that consistent documentation of the surrounding goings-on is crucial,) but I thought I’d go easy on myself and say that blog posts do.

I can see why blogging has become so popular.  The format is organic and comfortable.  You can jump from topic to topic without commitment.  It encourages you to pay attention to your personal impressions of and reflections on the world and organize those creative thoughts with the knowledge that you can easily synthesize them and put them in front of other people.  (The inescapable exhibitionism of the writer.)  I know that a big part of Writer’s March is to train yourself to just sit the fuck down and write.  This is something that I’m notoriously bad at.  Even now, as I write this, I am balancing my laptop on my head as I dance around listening to The Clash and eating pizza.  Blog posts allow you to unleash your inner ADHD child, taking impromptu photographs, doing research, finding youtube videos and links as you neurotically tab back and forth between wordpress and your dozen other open webpages…

Desk companion.

I hope that it’s a steady incline, and that in a few days I will be on my way to a new story, or that I’ll have completed some serious revisions to old, discarded yet salvageable work.  I hope, too, that I post more often on profound and inspiring topics.  But don’t be surprised when they’re similar to this one and I talk about what kind of cheese I bought at the grocery store between laments of my existential crises.

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~ by Lenore Gusch on March 2, 2012.

6 Responses to “On The March”

  1. Lenore, I’d almost forgotten how much I love your writing. Almost as much as I love your dress collection. Sam heard me laughing from the kitchen. Of course, she thought I was just having another asthma episode. I’m happy to say, it was a little of both. Love and green vans to you.
    R

  2. I suggest putting some crap in a car and driving away from Albuquerque. This town is the pits. I can’t wait to leave again. I’m only here because I was in a wreck and had to recuperate on dad’s couch. Run, you won’t regret it.

  3. It’s interesting to consider the why of blogging, or any other writing.

    One of my regular readers wrote to say she liked my last post better than the few political ones I’d done. She said she didn’t need that stuff because she keeps up with the news.

    As if.

    A lot of as ifs.

  4. Albuquerque isn’t the pits, not by a long shot. I’m here on purpose and it’s exactly the right place for me. Everybody has a place that’s right for them.

    And every place is where you are.

    And having a place that includes a dad with a couch where you can recuperate is a great gift. It’s been said that home is a place where, when you show up, they have to take you in.

    I wish everyone a home.

  5. hey man, some people like to read about cheese… Thanks for the post and the mention. I hope you are doing well with the writing. I’m excited to read the post that talks about the finished story. As for the road…I, too, love it but I do love albuquerque, and will miss it. Sometimes the road feels very lonely. And sometimes Albuquerque really feels like home.

  6. This is beautifully written, Lenore. Your writing style is not so much about the destination as the journey; and maybe that applies to your life, too.

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