This morning, a week or so after receiving a new computer due to a loving man who was REALLY frustrated that I was struggling with the old one, I am finally attempting the final test. Can. I. Blog? The first test was finally posting a comment on sister's blog, you know her, E.R.King http://getbusywriting.blogspot.com and it WORKED! Now, armed with 64 oz of caffeinated goodness and no idea what I'm writing, I'M BACK!
Truth be told, I get distracted, discouraged, overwhelmed and just down right ornery at having to be a grown-up. That's the hardest part of this process we go through as writer's though, isn't it? when we finally leave our fairytale world of romance or fantasy or mystery, where we know everyone and the characters feel like family (even the bad guys). We cry when we kill someone off, we celebrate the first time they make love, we laugh when we go back over things we forgot we wrote, because that line was just so fraking funny!
Then it's time to exit our personal reality and rejoin the world's. We sweat over queries, depress over rejections, and wonder if the talent is really there. At least I do. I can't stop writing, it's who I am. But am I good enough? Do I have the wherewithal to do everything I must to succeed? I just wanted to write, why do I have to prove my marketing skills? I know I have none of those! Sometimes I wonder if I even have anything worth sharing, if there is a person out there who I could connect with through my words.
Finally, the quiet sets in. I am a writer, because that is what I do. I may never connect with a stranger, may never be loved by masses of people who "get me" and love what I write about. I write for my children, so they will never give up on the things they love. I write for my sisters, because I know they read what I write. Their love and understanding buoys me up and I need them to know the strangeness in my head and accept it. I write for the sake of writing, because nothing feels as good as giving birth to new creation of all kinds and bringing beauty into the world, even if only I see it.
I write, because what I write IS good, it IS worthwhile, and no amount of money can compensate for my realization that I am valuable because I am, not because people know I am. Damnit, I'm out of things to say... which means I can no longer avoid my other hated grown-up task. *Sigh* housework beckons
Truth be told, I get distracted, discouraged, overwhelmed and just down right ornery at having to be a grown-up. That's the hardest part of this process we go through as writer's though, isn't it? when we finally leave our fairytale world of romance or fantasy or mystery, where we know everyone and the characters feel like family (even the bad guys). We cry when we kill someone off, we celebrate the first time they make love, we laugh when we go back over things we forgot we wrote, because that line was just so fraking funny!
Then it's time to exit our personal reality and rejoin the world's. We sweat over queries, depress over rejections, and wonder if the talent is really there. At least I do. I can't stop writing, it's who I am. But am I good enough? Do I have the wherewithal to do everything I must to succeed? I just wanted to write, why do I have to prove my marketing skills? I know I have none of those! Sometimes I wonder if I even have anything worth sharing, if there is a person out there who I could connect with through my words.
Finally, the quiet sets in. I am a writer, because that is what I do. I may never connect with a stranger, may never be loved by masses of people who "get me" and love what I write about. I write for my children, so they will never give up on the things they love. I write for my sisters, because I know they read what I write. Their love and understanding buoys me up and I need them to know the strangeness in my head and accept it. I write for the sake of writing, because nothing feels as good as giving birth to new creation of all kinds and bringing beauty into the world, even if only I see it.
I write, because what I write IS good, it IS worthwhile, and no amount of money can compensate for my realization that I am valuable because I am, not because people know I am. Damnit, I'm out of things to say... which means I can no longer avoid my other hated grown-up task. *Sigh* housework beckons