Four years. It's been four years since I have written on this blog (aside from the few attempts at haiku in recent weeks). I used to blog like a maniac. When Cedar was a baby I wrote all kinds of rambly bits and bobs on another blog -
Tamarack's Trails. Then there was my stepmama blog that was one of the only measures of sanity I could find in a truly screwed up co-parenting situation. There was the Artist's Way blog I wrote with some friends. Then came this blog, "a writer's journal." I filled this space with haiku, book reviews, pictures of nature, artist dates, and my MFA nature writing class coursework.
Blogging for me was always about musings, blips in my brains, thoughts that I kinda wanted to keep private, but the compelling nature of writing and sharing that writing with the world got the better of me. And so I wrote. And shared. And wrote some more. I loved the feedback, the idea that people were reading my words. That something I wrote might actually affect someone for the better.
Then I gave it up. It had become a chore, one that I did not want to spend my time doing, one that seemed inconsequential to anyone and everyone. That was four years ago, as the world spun into a dark and awful place. Shortly after the devastating 2016 election, I presented my MFA thesis for approval. And the darkened world spun completely off the rails and out of its orbit. It's impossible to explain the dramatic turn of events in a few short words, but suffice it to say that I still refer to it as the "thesis trauma." I did graduate, even got the diploma in the mail. But I stopped writing altogether for more than a year.
Instead, within days of the election, I began organizing the
Women's March in Ithaca. That was the best way I knew how to cope with the demise of Democracy. And then a crisp, sunny January 20, 2017 dawned, and I had one of the best, most vivid, most empowering days of my life. That event led me to run for local office, and on November 7, 2017, I was elected to my
County Legislature. With my writing life on the shelf, I focused on learning local government. And the work of the Tompkins County Legislature has consumed me since.
But the art of writing has a way of sticking with me. I worked through
The Artist's Way again. I began fiddling around with some of the old essays. I got a humbling jolt of validation when one of my thesis essays,
"Blood Mountain," became the winner of Flyway Journal's Notes from the Field contest. I visited some writer friends and we did a few days of a conference together. I stepped into the role of editor-in-chief at
Literary Mama. As I fiddled, a new muse appeared: the Appalachian Trail. And so, for 18 months, I wrote a book. The writing became a deep joy as I relived my 1999 thru-hike. Now, I'm trying to find representation and publication for that story, and the process over the past few months has been soul-crushing.
It's odd thinking back on that time four years ago, the synchronicity of events. Back then, none of us knew (though we suspected) just how actually horrifying the federal political scene would become. I couldn't have known my life would diverge from being solely focused on writing and family to mingling with the challenging jobs of being a Legislator and editor-in-chief. I couldn't have known I would walk away from this blog for four years.
However, we are turning a corner. As Joe wins the 2020 election, as we see Kamala, the first Woman of Color, become our Vice President, as I consider my own reelection in 2021, as Literary Mama grows, and as I wade through the publishing world to find a home for my book, I find myself coming back to this blog. I want to ramble. I want to share bits and bobs of art and nature and writing and life. Maybe blogging is just an act of vanity, a chance to revel in my own words, see my own story on the page. Maybe. But I also see it as an act of hope - which has been in extremely short supply the past four years. I want to share the blips in my brain because maybe someone will find something to enjoy here, or relate to, or better understand. Because we humans are more alike than we are different and sharing our stories is one way to connect. Because maybe somehow, someday, my words might affect someone's life for the better. And maybe as the world shifts and changes its orbit again, that someone will feel a little less alone.
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