Staying the Course

Well, the submission query has been sent in, and if it’s not immediately rejected, I’ve got six to twelve weeks of nail biting in front of me.  Luckily, the annual holiday insanity will help fill up the time.  I’ve taken a day off – and just did nothing, so now I have to get back on track. 

The problem is that nagging negative voice inside me.  You know the one.  We all have it.  Edgar Allen Poe referred to it as ‘the imp of perverse’.  This insidious creature perches on your shoulder, leaning close and whispering in your ear; reminding you of all those secret fears and insecurities.

My little devil is pointing out the futility of believing I’ll get these books published, so why waste even more time and energy on writing.  It’s time to leave ‘lala land’ and re-enter reality.  Trouble is, I’ve been to reality; and personally, I think it’s highly over-rated. 

However, I also have an oven I’m kind of afraid of roasting an innocent turkey in it for Thanksgiving.  Let’s just say that if Gordon Ramsey showed up, I’m pretty sure he’d shut my kitchen down based on the condition of the oven alone.  There’s a pile of mending and a couple of things cut out in the sewing room, waiting patiently. 

And, then there’s the laundry.  I’ve put off doing it for a while now.  After all, I do live in a desert; and I want to be sure I have a full load.  But, the truth is, that ship sailed a month ago. 

So, should I spend a little time in ‘the real world’?  Or, continue with my dream?  I think I’ll stay the course . . .

Taking the leap . . .

           Well, once again I’ve swallowed hard, set myself up for rejection and sent out a query to a publisher.  I know, every writer gets rejected.  We need to expect it, because it comes with the ‘job’. 

            I’ve been working on this submission for at least three weeks.  I’ve gone over the guidelines – and fulfilled every requirement.  I read everything through at least three times again this morning.  And still, it took real effort to hit that ‘send’ button.

            It’s sent now, winging it's way thorugh cyber-space.  All I can do is go back to working on the next project, hope for the best and wait.  The irony is that the title of the novel is Leap of Faith and that's exactly what I've done.

            Well, I've taken my leap.  Maybe this will be the right time, the right publisher and the right novel!  But whatever happens, I’ll just keep trying.

Inner Space

           We all begin writing for different reason.  However, once we start we are compelled to continue.  This is a good thing – on the whole.  And yet . . .

            The problem is the stories want out.  They demand our concentration and expect nurturing.  This tends to isolate us.  Even when we’re with others, we are inside ourselves, cultivating our children. 

We are torn between living in the real world or in our imaginary one.  Should we take time from our writing to interact with friends and family, or live through our characters?

My hope is that if I breathe enough life into my characters and stories that others will live through them as well, because that will make the isolation worthwhile.

Sometimes the Simple Things Work Best

            Do you know the most valuable lesson I ever learned - way back in grade school?  Before you do anything - stop, take your time and read the instructions all the way through.  No matter how easy that first or second question might be - don’t  answer it.  Take a deep breath, read the all directions and then take another few seconds to process them.

            Think about it.  How many times would a task - like building a computer desk or assembling a bicycle - have gone more smoothly, with less angst and swearing, if we’d just read direction?

            I even had a college professor who tried to drum that idea into our thick heads for an entire quarter.  And if only more of us had listened - because at the end of the directions at the beginning of an exam several pages long said, ‘Go to the last question on the last page.’

            When you turned to that question, it said ‘If you’ve read the instructions, you don’t need to take the exam.  Enjoy your weekend.’

So often, we’d all save so much time and energy in our lives – if we just followed those simple instructions.

The Healing Power of Writing

            I believe in ‘HEA’ – Happily Ever After’.     When my fairytale life came crashing down around me, I began writing to feed my dream, to keep me sane and give me hope.

            I was never ‘physically abused’; and I’m sure that to be in such a relationship is awful – that someone thinks that they can beat you would be horrible.  However, at least black eyes and broken bones are visible proof of abuse.

            Being unappreciated is difficult – being constantly belittled demoralizing. To have the person you love – the person, who should be your biggest supporter – look through you, as if you didn’t exist, is disheartening. 

It is even more insidious because there are no visible signs – no black eyes or broken bones.  There are nothing, but accusations of mental instability, of imaginary wrongs and paranoia.  And the invisibility of the abuse is excruciating.

So I began to write to heal myself . . . to reinstate my Happily Ever After Life!

Live and Let Live

I’ve already posted for the day, but something is bothering me – and since it could be considered related (it’s a stretch, but still) to today and tomorrow’s postings, I’m going to give my opinion.

            This morning, when I launched IE, the headline on my home page had a picture of Sir Paul (McCartney – for you youngsters, out there) and his new bride on the steps of the registry office where they’d just been married. I’m a child of the sixties – so I read the story, as well as the comments under it.  And it is the comments that have me writing this.

             There were more than a dozen posted when I was reading them; and with the exception of two or three offering congratulations, they were a series of rude, unnecessary statements.  Apparently, rudeness now passes for wit. 

Personally, I’d love to hear what a good Freudian psychiatrist would say what these comments revealed about their posters.  Even I can see they’re filled with jealousy and spite.  Do mothers no longer tell their children ‘If you can’t say something nice about something, don’t say anything.’? 

            I am, without a doubt, a hopeless romantic – perhaps one of the last of a dying breed – I admit it.  But I think it’s wonderful.  Congratulations to the happy couple.  Rock on!  

There Really are Ogres in Fairytales

I’ve always believed in the fairytale.  At fifteen, I fell in love with my high school sweetheart, convinced a higher power had chosen him – just for me.  At twenty-two, I married him with an absolute faith in the immortality of our love. 

            However, faith isn’t always enough.  As his career blossomed, his devotion withered.  He was a good man once; but he was weak and easily impressed with himself.

            He climbed from upper-middle management in a large corporation to vice president of manufacturing in a tiny one.  And he swelled with his own self-importance.  Later, he returned to a large corporation, and while no longer a VP, he managed a number of facilities in poor countries.  The old saying is true: Power corrupts.

            He believed all those press releases; and became a ‘legend in his own mind’.  I still remember when he had a soul – when he had values and wanted to do good works. 

            But somewhere, he forgot.