More About the Wool Suit

It’s hot inside the wool suit but it’s like wearing just a hoodie to school and having to suffer, wishing you had some way out, wishing you had some other choice to make, but you’re stuck all day, hot and, as I mentioned before, itchy.  And you’re gonna be in it until at least next June.

This is the metaphor for how I feel when it has gone days and weeks and months and I haven’t been writing.  It’ll be like a gnat in my ear, a constant hunger.  It’s a low lying hum that can almost get lost in the din of an exciting life but can also raise its volume to deafening pitches.

Writing daily soothes me.  There is a release of something inside of me that was battering to get out, there is an ease of tension because only through writing can I understand my own thoughts.  There is this momentum that I get swept up in when a story breaks through and begins to work, begins to move.  I feel right when I’m writing.  My mind is being put at peace as I sort out my relationships and their meaning through memoir and as I place characters where they belong at the dinner table and find out what it is they have to say after so long rolling around in my imagination I feel an ebbing relief.

But it’s not so perfectly easy.  Any metamorphosis has growing pains.  As I shed this wool suit I’ll also be shedding my own skin as I walk away from what I always knew and knew well, away from a kit that was safety net included!  I might sprout wings, I might gain webbing between my toes, either way, it will be the evolved me!

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