We're Going on an Adventure!

Dearest Obnoxious Orchid,

This isn’t a love letter, per your request. Or is it called something else when you’re non-romantic life partners who have seen each other through years of growth, relationships, tumult, and triumph? Whatever, our romantic life partners know they have to share, because you and I are in it 'til we’re withered old biddies, reclining in rocking chairs on the dusty porch with so many cats surrounding us.

Reader, in case you’re wondering, our names really do reflect our personalities. Orchid really is so obnoxious, in a way that some people find uncomfortable. One of my brighter memories, from years ago: she loudly demanded, in the middle of a suburban grocery store, if I needed batteries for my (non-existent) vibrator in preparation for going away to school. So ridiculously embarrassing, but once you breathe around the sheer, eye-popping mortification, it’s actually liberating. Together, we become an amalgamation of chaos and discipline, impulse and control - read: trouble.

The Big Idea

Here’s where this particular mischief got started, or at least the idea-phase did. The thought to go in on a writing “thing” together first spawned over a decade ago. We often stated, “You can’t make this shit up!” when referring to the many odd-ball situations we encountered (read: got ourselves into), and we wanted to share them, and the amusement they brought us, with others.

But time passes; years, degrees, life changes pile up. You never do the thing you said you would. And then it’s been 10+ years, add a pandemic, and all of a sudden, the writing bug is back, baby! Because holy reminder that life is short, Batman.

So here we are - two dames, one dialogue. After years of in-person chatting (and Duo calling this past millennia thanks to the big “P”), we’re bringing the magic to the digital page. Okay, it might not be magic - it might just be mundane. But I don’t think so.

The Why

Here’s where I want to start: why writing? My first memorable writing moment occurred in middle school, when my class published a literary something and I contributed the darkest, most morose poetry. Oh, youth.

Then came the blogging on Xanga, which I sincerely loved with all of my teenage heart. The creativity just poured out, night and day, and everything inspired me. It was fucking glorious. There’s even something of a novella out there (or a quarter of a full-length novel, based on word count).

But college drained the creativity away and all that came out were research papers and academic writing. I thought it was gone, like I had grown out of everything I had experienced when writing as a kid. Until I started again, tiny efforts as part of collaborations, forcing something out because the deadline is coming (hey, just like college!).

And it turned out, I really missed it. It felt like coming alive again. Breathing something new into the world in turn breathed life back into me. And I have since then wondered if writing actually gives me life, and not writing in turn sucks the humanity out of me. Dramatic, I know.

So, Now What?

We’re going on a little adventure. I am writing to you from my status as a 40-percenter - a member of the great resignation era, searching for life’s meaning so that when it all comes crashing down, I will think, I did it, whatever the hell it is. Or something. Welcome to the journey, we’ll know it when we get there.

Taffeta, darling!

-Austere Aster

P.S. Tell me about your "why" - why do you write?