On Happy Endings (Editorial #2)

On happy endings;

I wrote a short story a few weeks ago. I had the ending in mind as I wrote. It was about a girl that grew up with a compass that pointed south, and when she turned 18, she decided that she’d follow the compass to see where it led her. It led her to the middle of nowhere and that was the whole story. Nothing more, nothing less.

The thing that surprised me was how sad of an ending this was, even though I’d had it in mind before I started the story. The ending was bleak. I thought I was showcasing real life. I didn’t believe in happy endings for the most part; I believed in neutral endings. I believed in real life.

I called my dad to tell him how disappointed I was in having written such a sad story and he told me that he was also disappointed in the story. He doesn’t like it when I write sad stories. He thinks I’m falling into a dark place again.

But I didn’t mean for the story to be so sad… I just meant for it to be real.

I spent two months in Key Largo. I came home about three days ago and have been wandering the house, looking for something to do during my ten-day quarantine. Writing seems impossible. Knitting doesn’t sound fun. The Netflix murder mystery I’m watching is… sad. It all reminds me of this story I wrote a few weeks ago about real life that ended up being sad.

I have to remind myself that this isn’t real life, this is quarantine. After quarantine, I have four job interviews and even one job offer already lined up. Things didn’t end in Key Largo the way I would have liked them to; sure, I didn’t feel like I was ready to go.

But I did go. That’s the story.

And the ending isn’t sad because it isn’t the ending, right?

I realized this short story wasn’t supposed to be so short. Yes, the ending was sad but that’s not what the story was about. It was about the journey; following the compass; meeting friends; having campfires under the moon and falling in love. Sure, she finds nothing in terms of following the compass but she finds hope under a few rocks in the middle of the woods. She finds a whole new life.

I’ve decided to make this my new work in progress. A novella, maybe, about a girl following a southern pointing compass. Yes, you already know the ending. But the story is in the details and the ending is just the beginning of a new story.

When you think of it this way, my ending wasn’t so sad. I left a few friends behind in Key Largo but we’ll keep in touch. I feel that I wasn’t ready to go but I was. I was because I went and that’s just how the story goes. It’s not a sad ending, it’s just an ending.

And a beginning.

Of a really long, wonderful story.

Key Largo (Editorial #1)

I’ve been in Key Largo for six weeks, nearly. I’m spending time here working on myself, working on some trauma I’ve experienced. It’s a great program, and I’m willing to get the details to anybody who’s experienced trauma as well. But I miss home.

I’ve been writing–more than I have since I was in college. I’ve been journaling, reflecting on myself, writing poetry, and crafting short stories. It’s so exciting to be putting the pen to paper again. It’s what inspired me to re-open A Pear is a Pear.

If you’ve ever been in eating disorder treatment, you’ve heard the phrase “A body is a body, is a body.”

One day, in my recovery from bulimia nearly a year ago, my treatment friend got a pear for snack. She loved pears. Soft pears. Ripe pears. The pears that you bit into and the whole thing just fell apart in your mouth. That is not the pear she got that day for snack. It was the rock hard, crunch when you bite into it kind of pear.

Another girl shrugged. “A pear is a pear, is a pear.” She said.

So what is a pear?

It’s a body, apparently. A body shape, in many magazines. A sometimes not-so-ripe fruit. You know what I mean, though. A pear, it’s a metaphor. Of course it is. (It’s always a metaphor.) A body is a body, is a body. All bodies are good bodies. A pear is a pear, is a pear. All pears are good pears.

Don’t be so hard on yourself.

Give your writing a chance.

A pear is a pear, is a pear.