Falling Back Into Good Habits

I wonder where she went? you ask yourself, staring up at the cloudless sky of a new November. At that exact moment, your phone trills—and there it is, the familiar sight of my icon blowing up your Insta, your Twitter, your various online havens. I have arisen from the grave and I smell just as bad as I should.

Well, I’m married now, and with that comes… change. And yet no change. And yet a bunch of change. I’m going to legally change my name but my writer name will remain Robyn Ritchie so don’t stress out over having to re-remember me. I know, that was the first thing on your mind.

This is my favorite time of year—when the leaves are yellow and orange and dead in the gutters and scarves are a must. It has always made me feel like writing. And I’ll be honest, in the past… five months or so, I’ve been in such a funk writing-wise that I almost felt like this would never happen to me again. And by ‘this’ I mean any sort of enthusiasm.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not 14 again. I remember being 14. Being absolutely in love with the written word and storytelling and just entertaining my own damn self. I was like that even up until my early twenties. All I wanted to do was harass people with my writing and though I haven’t felt it to that extent for a long time, I’m feeling those little tendrils of happiness touching me again when I’m sitting at the laptop.

I’ve also taken to some longhand writing which is more convenient than anything, but I can’t do it for super long periods of time. The newest project I’m working on took a long sabbatical and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pick it up again. But I shouldn’t have worried; anything with locker room shenanigans will always find a home with me. It won’t be too long now, I don’t think.

I want to try incorporating some of the things I used to do while writing. You know, you can never go home again, but some things I can simulate. I remember when I was 13/14, I would take Saturday nights in my room with house music blaring and a Red Bull and a Snickers. What a fucking KID. I couldn’t handle that much sugar now… but I could use a Full Throttle. And I never lost my love of house music. I remember calling into the radio station I’d listen to and request certain tracks and twice I got to hear my voice on the radio. It meant the world to me to talk to my favorite DJ.

I go to cafes to write now too, which I never thought I’d do—I also have a home office I now write in, which is great, but the internet is a constant distraction. I get caught in the net! I look for any excuse not to face my problems.

Here’s to hoping the page becomes less a problem and more a solution.