How do you keep writing after a huge life change?

That's the question I've been asking myself for about as long as it takes for a baby to cook (nine months gestation, guys. I'm not actually cooking babies. If you think lobster screams are bad when you drop them into boiling water... kidding).

Be it marriage, kids, or, like in my case, a new job and the subsequent life upheaval that came with (my last day at my old job was six months ago today), how do you keep writing?

I went from a town where I had a solid friend base, a full time job I hated, and a part-time "job" that I couldn't spend enough time at. Now, I have a job I like, in a city with a ton of things to do where I know approximately 6 non-work people and regularly see two of them.

Writing was my escape. It was the happy place that counteracted the 40 hours a week that drained me. It gave me the control that "superior customer service" robbed me of. I've had the thought more than once that maybe I can't write anymore because I'm not miserable. Such a cliché artist thing to think but some of the greatest artists were the most haunted people. Not that I'm putting myself on the same level as Dickinson or van Gogh or anything.

I keep trying to tell myself that it's simple paranoia and panic. One of these days, I'll start believing it, for no other reason than the fact that my liver could never hold up to Hemingway's "cure-all".

But seriously, now that I am in a good place mentally and emotionally, how does writing fit in?

Honestly? I'm trying to figure out the answer to that and I may have found a small piece of it.

This past weekend, I road-tripped to Denver with my best friend to see Hamilton (it's amazing, drop everything and see it right meow) with my sister and brother-in-law. Denver has always been a bustling city but it has grown exponentially since the last time I spent more than a few hours there, which, interestingly enough, was pre-marijuana legalization.

I was terrified about driving in the city and all the tru-crime podcasts I've been listening to have made me hyper-aware and slightly (depending on who you talk to) more paranoid. All these things considered, we all survived, nobody got more hurt than when they arrived (Walt, I'm looking at you), and we got to see some pretty amazing things: from the natural beauty of the Rockies, to incredible art at the Denver Art Museum, and of course, Hamilton.

I'm not obsessed. You're obsessed.

Monday at work, I was struck with the strongest desire to write. I don't know if it was the dreary weather, the ghost stories on a podcast, or something else, but I just needed to work on a story that I had started last summer from a writing prompt for writers group. (The prompt was "take a folk belief and write a story where it is true" if you wanted to know.) I wrote more on Monday (including majority of this post) than I have since NaNoWriMo, if not before.

So what was different about Monday?

We've had more cloudy, dreary days than I can count and creepy shit on a true crimp podcast is nothing new. The only thing I can think is, this people-en-mass hating, run-away-and-hide introvert needs to get out among people more.

*car crash, screams, sirens, and somewhere in the distance, a baby cries*

It was a terrifying realization and one that shouldn't be surprising to anybody, especially me. I love people watching and people studying. I label myself an amateur anthropologist because I love learning about people and cultures. I am a very character-driven writer and need the fodder that being around people provides.

Meanwhile, I was trying to write with the lowest level of human interaction I've probably had since I was in diapers.

So, what does this realization mean? That I will be fully immersing myself into society for my craft?

Ah... no.

Because I still hate being around lots of people, but, now that I know part of the problem, maybe I will sojourn out of my apartment more to recharge the creative batteries.

More importantly, what does this mean to you?

Probably nothing, because no matter what all the writer help books and articles (and blogs) say about defeating writer's block and finding your muse (which you shouldn't be hunting anyway because they follow the writing, not the other way around), it all really is person- specific. What works for me might be detrimental to you.

All I'll say is, figure out what makes you tick as a writer and try to make it happen as much as necessary. Whether it's taking trips to exotic places, reading every book at your local library, or forcing yourself to leave the safety of your apartment and the painless judgement of your cat to sit at the mall and creepily watch people for a few hours, do it as much as you are able.

As for sitting alone at the mall with a notebook and a pen, a shirt that says "I'm a writer, not a creeper" couldn't hurt, right?

From Zazzle.