{"id":1966,"date":"2010-10-20T01:00:00","date_gmt":"2010-10-20T06:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/?p=1966"},"modified":"2010-10-20T00:58:46","modified_gmt":"2010-10-20T05:58:46","slug":"stuck-in-a-rut-old-haunts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/2010\/10\/20\/stuck-in-a-rut-old-haunts\/","title":{"rendered":"Stuck in a Rut: Old Haunts"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><img decoding=\"async\" loading=\"lazy\" class=\"alignright\" title=\"A crowd waiting in line.\" src=\"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/images\/oldplaces.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"250\" height=\"389\" \/>When I think about when I first started writing seriously, I can feel the cool breeze of that season and hear the leaves blowing.<\/p>\n<p>I remember what it felt like to write all night with the windows wide open and the curtains moving in an out like a breath, as though the house were alive.<\/p>\n<p>I remember the way everything smelled &#8212; the room where I wrote, the back roads I drove along with the windows down at night while thinking, new juggling props, mountain bike inner tubes, and even the damn microwave burritos that kept me going.<\/p>\n<p>And I see the places that remind me of writing:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>My old bedroom in a rickety house built in 1909<\/li>\n<li>An apartment where two friends lived<\/li>\n<li>The Tarrant County College campus (then Tarrant County Junior College)<\/li>\n<li>The Southern Methodist University campus<\/li>\n<li>The University of North Texas Campus<\/li>\n<li>Comic book stores<\/li>\n<li>Taylor&#8217;s bookstores<\/li>\n<li>Dallas&#8217; Deep Ellum District<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>I no longer live in that old house, and my friends have long moved on to married life. Taylor&#8217;s bookstores have been shuttered for years, and my favorite comic book shop is gone.<\/p>\n<p>But it doesn&#8217;t matter. I sometimes drive by the old house where I first started writing seriously and look at the corner that was my bedroom.<\/p>\n<p>A cool, breezy autumn night in <em>any <\/em>bookstore takes me back to nights I wandered around Taylor&#8217;s for hours, and some of the comic book shops I frequented are still around.<\/p>\n<p>I can visit any of the campuses mentioned above.<\/p>\n<p>These days, I only go to Deep Ellum to check out the occasional art show or band, but it always reminds me of the nights I was hyped up on coffee if I was driving, or nice and toasty from beer if somebody else had the keys. Those rides home were often spent talking about writing and other creative things.<\/p>\n<p>I can always go to places that take me back to the days when I first had the courage to say, &#8220;I write!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">*\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 *<\/p>\n<p>If you&#8217;re having a hard time writing, lately, make a list of old haunts that remind you of when you first started writing and visit a couple places.<\/p>\n<p>Focus on what it was at the time that drew you to certain places and how they affected the writing you did back then. Even if it&#8217;s just driving through the old neighborhood where you first started writing, it goes a long way.<\/p>\n<p>Maybe you can&#8217;t physically return to certain places, but as a writer you should be able to sit still and see everything in your mind. Sometimes the way we remember things is even better than reality.<\/p>\n<p>If that doesn&#8217;t stir memories of when writing may have come easier, put your ass in a chair and write a story about one of the places that used to be special to you.<\/p>\n<p>If that doesn&#8217;t get you writing, I&#8217;m not sure anything will&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>When I think about when I first started writing seriously, I can feel the cool breeze of that season and hear the leaves blowing. I remember what it felt like to write all night with the windows wide open and the curtains moving in an out like a breath, as though the house were alive. [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":""},"categories":[24,23,59],"tags":[67,14],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1966"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1966"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1966\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1966"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1966"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.christophergronlund.com\/blog\/tjw\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1966"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}