This should’ve gone up yesterday. I blame ten-page History papers that are due today for my forgetfulness.
Ever have it that everything about a season reminds you of the story you spent all your time writing last year? It’s an odd feeling, kind of like déjà vu, that creeps over me on a regular basis. When it’s spring and the snow’s melting, I’m reminded of when I was writing that story about a punk-rocker at his high school reunion. When it’s deadly cold out and I’m studying for midterm exams, I’m reminded of the time I procrastinated on studying by writing a novel-length fantasy about princesses, enchanters, evil witches, rajahs and magic. And fall reminds me of that ridiculous “historical” romance novel I wrote with my best friends in high school. It’s like when I’m really into writing a story, the story wraps itself around my whole life and is in the back of my mind even when I’m doing mundane daily activities. In the end, it leaves such a strong impression of itself that those mundane things continue to remind me of how I felt when writing the story for a long time after – not just a year later, but even five years or more.
Not that there’s a real downside to this. It’s more of a pleasant feeling of nostalgia (though there is sometimes a niggling worry that I’ll never write something that good again). I actually just wish I could experience the fun of writing that story all over again.
Ever noticed this yourself? Do certain things remind you of “how I felt back when I wrote that,” or is my mind the only one which works this way?
Hmm... 