I Wrote Then, I Write Now, I Will Write Tomorrow

As it happens, I’ve already written a lot of poems about where I’m from, though in different forms, and as I was working on the prewriting for this assignment, I was having trouble finding something new and fresh to say. But giving students alternatives is an aspect of open pedagogy, so, per jean’s suggestion, I’m offering a piece of writing that was informed by the prewriting I did for the poem I didn’t write. The prompt for this piece was given by Hannah Tinti at an event celebrating Jami Attenberg’s new book, 1000 Words: write one paragraph about “I wrote then because,” a second paragraph about “I write now because,” and a third paragraph about “I will write tomorrow because.” I feel like I’m cheating, lol! How weird and wonderful it is to engage in open pedagogy.

I wrote then because I loved to read. I wrote then because ordinary life was so intolerably ordinary, and I wanted something else, something very far away from the suburbs, from Connecticut in the late twentieth century, something magic. I wrote then because I had so many questions. Because I had so many feelings. Because I was full of so much longing, and the longing was as intolerable to me as life in the suburbs. Except that life in the suburbs wasn’t always intolerable, like that October afternoon with Neha and maybe Kathy, too, in Don’s convertible with the top down, driving all around town, fall foliage brilliant in the hills and on either side of the road, the Sundays on the stereo. I wrote then because I wanted to make something like how listening to the Sundays felt, or the Smiths, or Kate Bush, or Sinéad O’Connor. I wrote then because I wanted a big life, the sound of which could fill an arena.

I write now because I have found no other way to make sense of my life. I have never understood how so many people can let day after day go by without making a record of how they lived, what they saw, how they felt. I confess that I often envy those people. I often wish that I weren’t this way, but I write now because I am so unhappy if I do not. Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost. I write today so that later I can remember what life was like in January 2024, when the kids were 11 and 15 and I was bored.

I will write tomorrow because I wrote today. Once I begin, it is so hard to stop. Words will never pin anything down, there’s always more to chase after, the thing I didn’t get quite right, or changed my mind about, or just want to attempt again to reveal. I am brimming with so much to say. I will write tomorrow because I don’t want to put my desire aside anymore or shove it into a small space. I will write tomorrow because my life is big, and I want it to get even bigger.