Back in the Saddle

"Writing is the greatest, and writing the truth in particular. Your little slice of it. You've got that, and you've got your body, and I think that's it." - Michelle Tea

I realize that I haven't written in a while. In fact, an angry fan shot me an email this morning (oh, you know who you are!) begging for more. (I wish!) Well, here it is. I wish I had an excuse for not blogging, but I don't. I was in Arizona this past weekend, and that's all I've got for you. Going back to Arizona is like taking a resort vacation. In the desert, I don't worry about laundry, about cleaning, errands I need to run. There, I sleep in my old bed that smells of home, I get to snuggle with Walter and I have access to a chocolate cookie stash that rivals Mrs. Fields (I like to think my recent 5 lb. weight gain was due to all the food at work, but I think it's been concentrated on those few weekends I've come home. Thanks, Momma!)

Anyway - back to the point of this blog. I realized I needed to write more, so I figured a blog would help. And it has. But not enough...I can't even post everyday. To take things a step further, I signed up for a writing class at UCLA: Writing the Personal Essay. I think that's always been the genre bucket I fall into: personal stuff. Journaling. Essays. Random poems. Commentary. Even long-winded emails might count. The class is every Tuesday night for the next 10 weeks and I have already fallen in love with it; it's like therapy. Tonight I walked into a room of others that are like me in the sense that they share the love for this craft, but they are unlike me in so many ways: The long-haired rocker that appeared to have not taken a shower in several weeks, a songwriter, he calls himself; the graphic designer girl with the high pitched voice; the anesthesiologist that took care of wounded soldiers during Vietnam. The guy named Seth who proudly declared, "Seth loves SEX!" during the ice breaker name game. And a clinical psychologist that starts the story, yet can never finish, and who wants to tell tales of lessons she's learned....from the other side of the couch. Regardless, we're all there for the same reason, and writing about personal things - sharing those personal things - can make a person very vulnerable. I think I'm going to hear a lot of interesting things in this class, and they may not all be happy.

It felt amazing to be on campus, to have walked into that old brick building UCLA calls Royce Hall, to carry a backpack and actually write with my HAND and not with a keyboard (my hand cramped up after two paragraphs - pathetic.) It just feels great to feel inspired again. I knew that I belonged in that classroom tonight.

To writing on Tuesday nights. And getting to know yourself just a little better.

Goodnight LA.