Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Could it be the straw is the one thing I love the most?

I vowed earlier this week that I would post at least 2 blogs a week here on out. Yes. I vowed I would set aside the time to write a little ditty on here, to write a new chapter of my book, to clean - to multiply.

Actually I am overly satisfied with myself thus far. Granted I haven't posted anything, but I've writing and my kitchen is clean (1 down 8 to go!) and here I am blogging!! And wait till my husband gets home and finds out there are 5 of me! I know what you're thinking!!! The more to nag him with! HA!

Just kidding.

But since my last blog I've been doing a lot of soul searching and it seems to end up the same way as every other time I go on a soul searching trek.

I like my life. I love my family and I wish I could write full time. I'm not really complaining. I love my job too - becoming a yoga teacher was by far one of the best choices I ever made. I get to meet new, cool and interesting people - then 1/2 hour later force them to stand on their head as I joke about how seeing the world from another perspective really is a good thing. It is. If you are feeling stagnate in your life, stand on your head. If you're worried about standing on your head, lay over the side of your couch so that you're safely inverted.

I love inversion.
Honestly and with all my heart, I love them.
I love hand, forearm, shoulder and head stands.
I love the feeling that I CAN do that! I CAN be upside down, little old me with my tiny little frame and my lack of "upper body strength" which every one likes to use as an excuse to get out of the inversion.

I also love meditation.
Sitting very still in a calm and quiet environment allowing yourself to find the moments between the breaths until you are thinking of nothing and all that "real world" mumbo jumbo has slipped away and all you have left is the longest sigh you have ever taken.
That is meditation to me.
Pure and true and wonderful.

Then there is writing.
Since I was a little kid. Since the moment I followed the dashed lines in my phonics book. Since the number 2 led pencil pressed into the newspaper stock workbook page and looped around to make a cursive L and that squiggly Z. I love it.
I love how paper feels in my hands, stacks and stacks and stacks of it. I love how books smell. I love how cheaper mass market books suck the moisture out of your fingers and I have to get up and reapply lotion before I call it a day. I love creating new people and places and monsters and theories. I love scenes and dialog and VERBS! OH MY GOD HOW I LOVE VERBS.
I love to write long run on sentences that look like paragraphs and then break them down, and down, and down until the language is staccato and pressed into the perfect little package that lets you breath the ideas that are litter through out my being.

I just love it.

And I've been writing this book, it is my first book... [insert sigh here] I'm in my mid-thirties with a child, and a husband, and a job(s), and two blogs, a small online store, and an obsession with food... I give my self the fact that I'm half way through the rewrite and it hasn't been a year since the initial draft was begun plus the rewrite is more like a "do over" because the first approach found itself in the pilot episode of Lost, meaning it fell from the sky in flames to perdition.

So this is my issue. I'm at the "I'm gonna chuck it in the trash bin" portion of my writing life, so I'm trying read more. Books. Blogs. Tweets. Shampoo bottles and even a few palms. I do this trying to build excitement and to generate enthusiasm to keep going and not to chuck the damn thing.

In general... it's not working.
When it first started happening I went the route of looking at every piece of writers advice I could extricate from any source I felt applied to my life. Now I'm just so flustered I won't look at any advice because I feel I'm being pulled in too many directions - so how do you write when you love writing but can't seem to get past this hump in the middle of writing.

Now I'm having an existential crisis. Should I even BE a writer? Can I even call myself that word? Do I deserve it?!

I know. I know. I'm being slightly dramatic, but there are days I'd like the answer to be handed to me on a silver platter by a tall, slender middle aged man with silver hair and an obnoxious British accent.

"Here is your future madame!" Lift silver lid and VOILA! WRITER! MOTHER! YOGI!

Yes, that's what it boils down to. Should I keep going with everything that I have piled onto my plate or should I make a choice? I guess the old adage that you only ask for advice when you know the answer applies here... The answer is simple.

Yes, it will take me longer than the deadlines I set - the four I've already exceed (I'll have it done before Halloween, no Thanksgiving, no Christmas, no New Years..) I guess I'll just have it done when I have it done and when it is done I hope to be in a place where I can give it all of my attention because then, that very moment an agent/publisher/god says yes to my book - that's the moment I should be contemplating this.

Everyone tells me to slow down or that I do too much or I should make a choice, but I have. I once choose to be a barfly for 7 years and now I choose to be a workaholic. Maybe my next life I choose to be a yogi that sits in a cave, who knows? Maybe that's the karma I'm supposed to be living right now? Either way I assume when I'm living that life I won't remember this one... well, unless I read the right palm.

Which reminds me... I need to get a few pages in before I nod off.
Have a lovely night!



  1. Here's the test. If your work is draining, if it isn't leading you towards joy but is pulling you away from the path of your happiness then it is not the work for you.

    If, on the other hand, your work is energizing, if it leaves you peaceful and fulfilled and eager for more then it is right for you in this moment.

    I work like a maniac. I can't stop. My friends and family give me a hard time because I rarely stop working anymore; locking myself away behind words. But I can't help it. I would write from the comfort of a cardboard box if that's what I had to do. I would write from a prison cell and if you took away my paper I would write upon my soul.

    There is no other option.

    But don't forget that finishing that book is an accomplishment even if you don't sell it the first time around. I'm sitting on two complete manuscripts and working on my third novel. It doesn't matter. I'll keep writing and then one day everything will be published. I have time.

    And please, call yourself a writer. Writers write. You don't have to be published; you don't have to be paid; hell, you don't even have to be read. If you're writing, you're a writer. Own that title, because it's yours.


  2. Thank you. I needed to hear that and thank you for all your advice and kind words :-)