Yesterday, on the unseasonably warm April day in Philadelphia, I cleaned out my closets. Or, really, I cleaned the clothing racks that hold my wardrobe, since I don’t actually *have* closets (the downside of living in what used to be a warehouse). This is a relatively annual ritual, something I do around this time every year. Spring-cleaning, as they say. 
Out with the old and unworn (or worn too much), in with the new and fresh. As my past roommates can attest, I used to be terrible at this activity, clinging on to clothes well past their due date, ones that I hadn’t worn in months and wouldn’t wear for months, if ever again, just for the possibility that maybe (just maybe) there would be the off-chance that I’d wear it again. Someday. In the future. Assuming I’d still be the same size, that is. (Read: not happening.) In any case, I like to think in recent years I’ve gotten better. For instance, today I managed to rid myself of plenty of old clothes, being diligent and restrictive to what would constitute my new spring and summer wardrobe. It left me feeling freer, lighter, infinitely less cluttered. My bedroom itself looks like it just took a large breath, as if the life it once had was finally flowing through it again.
Of course, I’m not writing this to discuss my wardrobe. (A collective sigh of relief from the audience.) I’m writing because as I was de-cluttering and breathing new life into my apartment, I got to thinking about the current novel-length writing project that I’ve been working on since January and, it can be said, still have a ways to go on. It’s the one piece of writing that has consumed my thoughts for months. Sixty thousand words in, I’ve hit the proverbial wall. Though I’d say it’s a small one, small because I haven’t crashed into it headlong yet, small because it’s more of a turbulent bounce than a scrap-the-whole-project obstacle. It’s more of a mini hurdle. I won’t bore you with the specifics, as I assume if you’re reading this it means you’re taking a break from your own writing, or thinking about your own writing, or anxiously awaiting the time you can get back to your writing, etc. Suffice it to say, my issue has to do with chronology and timing and all that fun stuff that could, frustratingly enough, make or break the entire thing.
But as I was on my “out with the old” tirade, I had a thought. Perhaps what I’d needed all along with my wardrobe was a bit of perspective. A stronger voice to say, “No, Alisha, you won’t wear that green dress you’ve clung to since college. You know why? Because it no longer works for you. And it probably still has remnants of a 2009 keg party, for that matter.” A voice to argue down the notion to hold out hope for the day in which the green dress will finally “work” again. Because it won’t. It will just hang there, dying a slow death, unworn and fading, until I finally do give it away, frustrated that I hadn’t months before when I should have. 
Which brings me back to my story. I’ve written before about realizing when things no longer work and accepting the challenge of changing your story (small or drastically so). What I discovered today was that my piece needed was a bit of spring-cleaning. A slightly more awakened perspective. A change in my thought process. And with this new, revitalized sense of being, I answered my own question about what I should change in my story. It is, in the long run, a simple change, and one that will be easy to fix (thankfully), but is, as I realize it now, incredibly necessary.
So this is what I leave you with: like the clutter that we hang on to in our lives and in our apartments, such is the clutter that we keep with us in our writing. We may not realize it until the decision is made to rid of it, but afterwards we wonder why on earth we kept it for so long to begin with.
I propose a challenge. Take your story. Whatever isn’t working, whatever it is you’re fighting so hard to make right, instead of being witness to the words you’ve written slowly dying on the page, breathe a little life into your story by taking a chance. By this I mean, look at it differently and change what’s not working. With any luck, you’ll open up the doors to something completely new and exciting, something you wouldn’t have even considered a few weeks ago. As for the old stuff, unlike clothes (unless you have big closets, in which case I’m envious), you can always save it and come back to it some other time, though I think you’ll find you were right by cleaning it out in the first place.
As always, you can follow me @alishakathryn.
