First, Google what the flying frak have you done with the interface? Seriously, Blogger wasn't broken so what did you hope to accomplish? I swear if Chasing Inspiration wasn't already taken over at Wordpress I would defect immediately. What a pain.
Okay, onward.
Mountain Man and I were recently discussing a conference I attended a couple of months ago and I shared with him a revelation I had about my faith and some insights the speaker shared around growth and joy and God. I don't know what I was expecting from MM. Perhaps I was hoping he would grasp the concepts I was starting to embrace. Or maybe I was hoping he would smile and tell me what a wonderful experience this must have been for me.
Neither happened. Instead he said he was glad I had a good time and started in on some task or another. I was deflated.
I'm often deflated when it comes to Mountain Man and my hopes or expectations that he will be just as excited as I am about something. Or want to listen to me expound on something I find utterly fascinating. The simple truth is - he's just not that into the things that make my belly flip and my soul sing.
I love Mountain Man. He's an amazing man with a wonderful heart. When we were first dating he would hang on my every word, just as I would hang on his. Somewhere in the last 20 years we've stopped hanging on each other's words. Somewhere along the way we stopped trying to see and explore the hidden depths within each other.
My experience made me wonder, do I smile and nod and send MM on his way when he tries to share with me something new and exciting in his life? While I hope not, I'm sure I do. We're busy people with task lists ten miles long. Most of our days are spent away from each other, ensconced in our places of work. When we get home, we're attacking those task lists or tired or both.
I realized that MM just wasn't that into what was important to me in that moment. And maybe I wasn't that into what was important to him. It happened slowly, this relationship apathy. So slowly, we both saw the changes as part of our normal.
One of the things this spiritual leader and mentor said that struck me was that what if all that was wrong with the world wasn't all that was bad in our eyes. What if it was a lack of kindness and soul connection. What if that is part of what is going on in my marriage? A lack of kindness and soul connection. What if I'm part of the problem? If I don't want this new normal, I need to do something to change it. I need to stop and listen with joy and anticipation. No, I choose to stop and listen with joy and anticipation. I choose to connect with MM, to learn anew what inspires him, what worries him. Free of assumptions. Without judgement.
It's not going to be easy, shifting gears away from the task lists and the picture I have in my head of who my husband is. But I think it will be worth it. He may not be that into some of these things that make my heart flutter and my soul sing, but I'm going to be that into him. Because I love him.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
When It's Almost Too Much to Bare
My father-in-law is dying.
This is the first time I have put these words in print. It's one of the few times I have allowed myself to think these words. There's this sense of relief that comes with the admission, as well as a sense of dread.
We're not close, my father-in-law and I. I respect him and the person he has become over the 20 years I've known him. I admire the positivity he displays with his children regarding the cancer that is doing its best to eat away his life from the inside. I grieve for the pain he is experiencing and I wish he was closer so his family could be with him.
Even more than my feelings for my father-in-law, I hurt for my husband. He is not a stranger to loss. He lost a dear friend a few weeks after our wedding. We lost our first dog about five years ago (he was a special dog and we both mourned his passing deeply). He lost his sense of family when his parents divorced but learned to redefine family as people started to heal and move forward. Other family members have been lost - grandparents, his step-father. In all of these situations he has grieved.
He is preparing for a loss unlike any other. The loss of a parent. I do believe the loss of a child can eclipse the loss of a parent, but let's not split hairs. Loss is loss and when someone you love and have relationship with is suddenly missing form your life, you feel the pain. It can be as though someone severed a limb from your body and your told you must continue on, living life the way you did before. Only now, ha ha, without that limb. But don't complain. Don't argue. Don't give the appearance that you even notice the limb is missing.
Loss in our society is a sucky business. But I digress. This post isn't about my opinions on grief and how to handle loss. It's about the fact my father-in-law is dying and I can do nothing for him or for my husband or his family during this time. Except be. And pray.
I am learning once again how important it is to be and to give space when someone is either in the grieving process or preparing to be. He does not grieve in the same way I do. He's an introvert and internal processor. This means he likes his alone time and is more apt to think about things than talk about them. I'm an introvert and a verbal processor. While I like my alone time, I need to talk things through in order to truly understand them. The best thing I can do for my husband as he prepares to say good-bye to his father in little, painful steps is to give him his space, to let him experience this process in his way, and to be there for him to remind him that he's not alone.
I can also pray for him. And with him. We both believe in a kind and loving God. I am not a theological expert, but I can say I believe that God has given all of man free will and with free will choices. He has allowed life on this planet to progress naturally. Yes, I do belive in evolution. I don't necessarily buy into the fact we come from apes or something that climbed out the sea. That smacks of fantasy to me.
But I believe that this earth is progressing under the natural consequences of choices every living thing makes. And that with the evolution of all good things, there are what we consider the not so good things. I don't believe God will just wipe everything out and make it so bad things don't happen. To do that, he would have to revoke free will. Anyway, this is my long way of saying, I believe there can be horrible things like cancer and death and a kind and loving God. I believe there are mysteries that I am not meant to solve and questions bigger than I can answer. That sometimes have no answer.
I believe God wants to share in our grief. He wants to be present in our day-to-day. He wants to be invited in. So I pray. I do pray for healing, that by a miracle my father-in-law would be cured of cancer. I also pray for peace and joy. Yes, joy. Joy in a life well lived. Joy in knowing we are blessed to be a part of each other's lives. Joy in knowing death is not the end but another transition in our journey.
I also pray that my husband allows himself to grieve. That his family allows themselves to go through the emotions and stages of loss. Yes, even being angry at the cancer, at their father. At God. I pray for reconciliation. God has laid that on my heart since last year and while I'm not sure what I'm praying for here, I still pray it. God is good. He has a reason.
My father-in-law is dying. There is nothing humanly possible I can do to spare him the journey he is on. I wish I could. So I pray. And I grieve. And I give my husband the space and love and understanding he needs to play his part in my father-in-law's journey.
This is the first time I have put these words in print. It's one of the few times I have allowed myself to think these words. There's this sense of relief that comes with the admission, as well as a sense of dread.
We're not close, my father-in-law and I. I respect him and the person he has become over the 20 years I've known him. I admire the positivity he displays with his children regarding the cancer that is doing its best to eat away his life from the inside. I grieve for the pain he is experiencing and I wish he was closer so his family could be with him.
Even more than my feelings for my father-in-law, I hurt for my husband. He is not a stranger to loss. He lost a dear friend a few weeks after our wedding. We lost our first dog about five years ago (he was a special dog and we both mourned his passing deeply). He lost his sense of family when his parents divorced but learned to redefine family as people started to heal and move forward. Other family members have been lost - grandparents, his step-father. In all of these situations he has grieved.
He is preparing for a loss unlike any other. The loss of a parent. I do believe the loss of a child can eclipse the loss of a parent, but let's not split hairs. Loss is loss and when someone you love and have relationship with is suddenly missing form your life, you feel the pain. It can be as though someone severed a limb from your body and your told you must continue on, living life the way you did before. Only now, ha ha, without that limb. But don't complain. Don't argue. Don't give the appearance that you even notice the limb is missing.
Loss in our society is a sucky business. But I digress. This post isn't about my opinions on grief and how to handle loss. It's about the fact my father-in-law is dying and I can do nothing for him or for my husband or his family during this time. Except be. And pray.
I am learning once again how important it is to be and to give space when someone is either in the grieving process or preparing to be. He does not grieve in the same way I do. He's an introvert and internal processor. This means he likes his alone time and is more apt to think about things than talk about them. I'm an introvert and a verbal processor. While I like my alone time, I need to talk things through in order to truly understand them. The best thing I can do for my husband as he prepares to say good-bye to his father in little, painful steps is to give him his space, to let him experience this process in his way, and to be there for him to remind him that he's not alone.
I can also pray for him. And with him. We both believe in a kind and loving God. I am not a theological expert, but I can say I believe that God has given all of man free will and with free will choices. He has allowed life on this planet to progress naturally. Yes, I do belive in evolution. I don't necessarily buy into the fact we come from apes or something that climbed out the sea. That smacks of fantasy to me.
But I believe that this earth is progressing under the natural consequences of choices every living thing makes. And that with the evolution of all good things, there are what we consider the not so good things. I don't believe God will just wipe everything out and make it so bad things don't happen. To do that, he would have to revoke free will. Anyway, this is my long way of saying, I believe there can be horrible things like cancer and death and a kind and loving God. I believe there are mysteries that I am not meant to solve and questions bigger than I can answer. That sometimes have no answer.
I believe God wants to share in our grief. He wants to be present in our day-to-day. He wants to be invited in. So I pray. I do pray for healing, that by a miracle my father-in-law would be cured of cancer. I also pray for peace and joy. Yes, joy. Joy in a life well lived. Joy in knowing we are blessed to be a part of each other's lives. Joy in knowing death is not the end but another transition in our journey.
I also pray that my husband allows himself to grieve. That his family allows themselves to go through the emotions and stages of loss. Yes, even being angry at the cancer, at their father. At God. I pray for reconciliation. God has laid that on my heart since last year and while I'm not sure what I'm praying for here, I still pray it. God is good. He has a reason.
My father-in-law is dying. There is nothing humanly possible I can do to spare him the journey he is on. I wish I could. So I pray. And I grieve. And I give my husband the space and love and understanding he needs to play his part in my father-in-law's journey.
Monday, May 21, 2012
She Who Writes, Wins!
I am a writer.
It took me a long time to accept this truth. If you've reading my blog, you have seen this journey. I used to say I want to write. That I was going to write a book some day (even though I was in the process of writing it even then). That I want to be an author and be published. But I would never admit outloud or on paper that I am a writer.
What makes a writer? It's not publication. And if we're going to talk about publication, I need to remind myself that this blog is a form of publication.
Being a writer isn't about passion or desire. Sure, those are components but they aren't what makes a person a writer.
What I have learned through time, and the patient reminders of my good friends, is that a writer is a person who wakes up in the morning and must write. Where writing is like breathing, you just cannot survive without writing something. Anything. Whether it be a journal entry, a letter, a poem, a story, you must write.
If you don't write, the days are dark and something is missing. Something vital to your being. If you don't write, it's as though the joy is being slowly sucked from your soul.
But when you do write, oh, the sun shines anew! The world lights with color and texture and sound like never before. And that secret part of you is blessed and filled to overflowing.
These things hold true for me. I am a writer. And every day I write even a sentance I win because I am being true to who I am and who God has made me to be.
I am a writer. Are you?
It took me a long time to accept this truth. If you've reading my blog, you have seen this journey. I used to say I want to write. That I was going to write a book some day (even though I was in the process of writing it even then). That I want to be an author and be published. But I would never admit outloud or on paper that I am a writer.
What makes a writer? It's not publication. And if we're going to talk about publication, I need to remind myself that this blog is a form of publication.
Being a writer isn't about passion or desire. Sure, those are components but they aren't what makes a person a writer.
What I have learned through time, and the patient reminders of my good friends, is that a writer is a person who wakes up in the morning and must write. Where writing is like breathing, you just cannot survive without writing something. Anything. Whether it be a journal entry, a letter, a poem, a story, you must write.
If you don't write, the days are dark and something is missing. Something vital to your being. If you don't write, it's as though the joy is being slowly sucked from your soul.
But when you do write, oh, the sun shines anew! The world lights with color and texture and sound like never before. And that secret part of you is blessed and filled to overflowing.
These things hold true for me. I am a writer. And every day I write even a sentance I win because I am being true to who I am and who God has made me to be.
I am a writer. Are you?
This post was entered in the You Are a Writer contest by Jeff Goins.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
7 Lines from the 7th Page
A little fun from Kait Nolan's blog. The perfect fun for a day when I'm feeling anything like fun and games. Ha!
Instructions:
- Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
- Go to line 7
- Copy down the next seven lines as they are – no cheating
- Tag 7 other authors
From page 7 of TIW (yes, it's a little more than 7 lines):
When I was a little girl I thought I could see fairies. Ethereal and menacingly beautiful creatures with feathery wings and shining auras. I would never engage them, never talk to them or attempt to play with them. But I could see them out of the corner of my eye. Waiting, watching.My mother saw me once, softening my gaze as I looked out over a fountain in the middle of the town we called home at the time. The fear on her face was enough to keep me from ever speaking about what I saw. My gaze has been clear and crisp ever since.
I don't know enough people who will want to participate to tag anyone, so if you're reading this and you would like to play along, please do! And let me know in the comments so I can support you in reading your 7 lines on page 7. :)
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Who Says You Can't Go Home
Writing is going well. I have a lot of short vignettes that have nothing to do with any of my works in progress. They are part of my writing recovery. And they are slowly sparking the inspiration deep within me.
I'm also journaling. I used to journal all the time. I always had some type of paper journal, something with unlined pages and a soft, leather cover. Something I could slip into my bag or backpack and write in anywhere. I would work out my fears and anxieties within those pages, knowing that they were for me and me alone. It was safe. It didn't judge, nor did it try to offer ill timed advice.
I stopped journaling a few years into marriage once I started working full time. I was in full time school for my master's degree, working full time and was utterly exhausted every step of the way. I had no time to think, let alone journal. Funny, it was during this time I found myself writing fiction. Apparently I didn't want to deal with my own life so I made up fictional lives I could torture instead.
Writing fiction became my journal. At first, what I wrote had autobiographical qualities loosely disguised in a thin veneer of fiction. I worked through some deeply hurtful issues within those first stories. I was able to address certain things while still remaining slightly apart from them. It was a balm and it helped me keep my sanity through a very chaotic time in my life.
I think a part of me missed my journal. Writing fiction instead of journaling was like moving away from my home town to the big city. It was exciting, different and yet had some of the same qualities I loved about that home town. But even in the big city a girl can long for home.
Fiction is wonderful, but sometimes you need to focus on your life in this precise moment. Sometimes you need to chronicle events and decisions so you can look back at them and remember. And grow.
I'm writing fiction again. Some of it is still somewhat autobiographical in nature. Most of it is wonderful fantastical. I'm not trying to live my life and my issues on those pages. What a relief. That is for my journal. I haven't found that wonderful leather bound book to write in...yet, but I'm not letting that be an excuse. Last year, it would have been. I have an old notebook, worn and plain, but it's got paper and I have a pen and as soon as I start writing the pages become filled with my every thought. It's a little like coming home.
I'm also journaling. I used to journal all the time. I always had some type of paper journal, something with unlined pages and a soft, leather cover. Something I could slip into my bag or backpack and write in anywhere. I would work out my fears and anxieties within those pages, knowing that they were for me and me alone. It was safe. It didn't judge, nor did it try to offer ill timed advice.
I stopped journaling a few years into marriage once I started working full time. I was in full time school for my master's degree, working full time and was utterly exhausted every step of the way. I had no time to think, let alone journal. Funny, it was during this time I found myself writing fiction. Apparently I didn't want to deal with my own life so I made up fictional lives I could torture instead.
Writing fiction became my journal. At first, what I wrote had autobiographical qualities loosely disguised in a thin veneer of fiction. I worked through some deeply hurtful issues within those first stories. I was able to address certain things while still remaining slightly apart from them. It was a balm and it helped me keep my sanity through a very chaotic time in my life.
I think a part of me missed my journal. Writing fiction instead of journaling was like moving away from my home town to the big city. It was exciting, different and yet had some of the same qualities I loved about that home town. But even in the big city a girl can long for home.
Fiction is wonderful, but sometimes you need to focus on your life in this precise moment. Sometimes you need to chronicle events and decisions so you can look back at them and remember. And grow.
I'm writing fiction again. Some of it is still somewhat autobiographical in nature. Most of it is wonderful fantastical. I'm not trying to live my life and my issues on those pages. What a relief. That is for my journal. I haven't found that wonderful leather bound book to write in...yet, but I'm not letting that be an excuse. Last year, it would have been. I have an old notebook, worn and plain, but it's got paper and I have a pen and as soon as I start writing the pages become filled with my every thought. It's a little like coming home.
Friday, March 09, 2012
To Have Joy or to Write, That is the Question
I think someone up there is trying to tell me something.
Everywhere I have turned in the last few weeks, the same message has been occurring. It's about passion. It's about joy. And it's starting to impact my writing.
I've been challenged to let go of writing for the sake of publication. To let go of the drive to have my words in the hands of the masses. To stop focusing on pleasing the reader and to write to please myself. To find joy in writing again by writing only for me. Writing because without spending time writing, I am lost.
With my current work in progress, I have been trying hard to apply all the lessons I have learned on craft and to change how I write so I can write a story that is marketable. Many of the people I look up to as successful authors talk about writing to the market, writing to an audience and how that works for them. And it obviously works for them, so I decided to see if it could work for me. My end goal is to be published. Why not test out the process of those who are successful at what they do?
Sounds good on paper, but in reality it's caused me no end of self doubt and brain freeze. Am I doing things right? Will my concept even appeal to anyone? Who the hell do I think I am that I could ever be published? Why is this so hard?
I keep hearing that writing is hard. I won't lie, the initial draft for me is easy. The story just comes. It's not completely fleshed out. It has no end of flaws. But actually getting words on the page is easy. Revisions are hard. Revisions are hell. I'm learning to do some things differently so I can embrace the process of reshaping my story into something more cohesive and polished. But it is hell.
Recently, the entire process of getting words on the page has been hellish. After getting hit over the head with some blog posts and writerly advice from writers I had never even heard of before this week, I know why. I stopped writing for the sake of writing. I stopped writing for the joy of seeing words form sentences, sentences forming paragraphs, paragraphs forming scenes and scenes forming stories.
I stopped finding joy in creating.
There, I said it. It has shamed me for a long time that I didn't have the rush, the joy of writing anymore. It's chased me for years. I stopped writing for a while because of it. I started writing for fun instead of profit for a while and thought I was on the road to recovery.
That ended the minute I started trying to write something that is publishable. My joy fizzled out until I became a dry husk and the words no longer flowed freely. I had to fight for every last one of them.
You know what? I'm done. I'm writing for me again. I still want to publish, but I'm going to go about it differently. I'm going back to the beginning and doing two things. I'm going to take my current wip and keep everything that sings to me and scrap the rest. Then I'm going to start writing again, just to let the words flow and to make my heart burst with joy. I'm not going to put the pressure on this story to be THE story. I'm just going to let it be story. Just story.
I'm also going to focus on craft. Not publishing. Craft. There's a course I really want to take that has been recommended for years by Marjorie Liu - Clarion. It sounds amazing. While I wish I could go to Clarion this year and immerse myself into a writing community for six weeks, I can't afford the time off of life right now to do so.
Instead of feeling sorry for myself because I can't go to Clarion, I'm going to go back to a writing course I took by Holly Lisle back in 2007, or was it 2008? Anyway, I took How to Think Sideways by Holly and am a life time member of her novel writer boot camp. I have all the lessons and am going to start at the beginning. Not with my current WIP. I'm instead going to create a new story through the process. Just for fun and for knowledge.
Some day I will be a published author. For now I need to write for me or I'm going to lose writing altogether and that, I just cannot do. It would be like cutting out part of my soul, and who can live with only half a soul? Hmm, maybe there's a story idea there...
Everywhere I have turned in the last few weeks, the same message has been occurring. It's about passion. It's about joy. And it's starting to impact my writing.
I've been challenged to let go of writing for the sake of publication. To let go of the drive to have my words in the hands of the masses. To stop focusing on pleasing the reader and to write to please myself. To find joy in writing again by writing only for me. Writing because without spending time writing, I am lost.
With my current work in progress, I have been trying hard to apply all the lessons I have learned on craft and to change how I write so I can write a story that is marketable. Many of the people I look up to as successful authors talk about writing to the market, writing to an audience and how that works for them. And it obviously works for them, so I decided to see if it could work for me. My end goal is to be published. Why not test out the process of those who are successful at what they do?
Sounds good on paper, but in reality it's caused me no end of self doubt and brain freeze. Am I doing things right? Will my concept even appeal to anyone? Who the hell do I think I am that I could ever be published? Why is this so hard?
I keep hearing that writing is hard. I won't lie, the initial draft for me is easy. The story just comes. It's not completely fleshed out. It has no end of flaws. But actually getting words on the page is easy. Revisions are hard. Revisions are hell. I'm learning to do some things differently so I can embrace the process of reshaping my story into something more cohesive and polished. But it is hell.
Recently, the entire process of getting words on the page has been hellish. After getting hit over the head with some blog posts and writerly advice from writers I had never even heard of before this week, I know why. I stopped writing for the sake of writing. I stopped writing for the joy of seeing words form sentences, sentences forming paragraphs, paragraphs forming scenes and scenes forming stories.
I stopped finding joy in creating.
There, I said it. It has shamed me for a long time that I didn't have the rush, the joy of writing anymore. It's chased me for years. I stopped writing for a while because of it. I started writing for fun instead of profit for a while and thought I was on the road to recovery.
That ended the minute I started trying to write something that is publishable. My joy fizzled out until I became a dry husk and the words no longer flowed freely. I had to fight for every last one of them.
You know what? I'm done. I'm writing for me again. I still want to publish, but I'm going to go about it differently. I'm going back to the beginning and doing two things. I'm going to take my current wip and keep everything that sings to me and scrap the rest. Then I'm going to start writing again, just to let the words flow and to make my heart burst with joy. I'm not going to put the pressure on this story to be THE story. I'm just going to let it be story. Just story.
I'm also going to focus on craft. Not publishing. Craft. There's a course I really want to take that has been recommended for years by Marjorie Liu - Clarion. It sounds amazing. While I wish I could go to Clarion this year and immerse myself into a writing community for six weeks, I can't afford the time off of life right now to do so.
Instead of feeling sorry for myself because I can't go to Clarion, I'm going to go back to a writing course I took by Holly Lisle back in 2007, or was it 2008? Anyway, I took How to Think Sideways by Holly and am a life time member of her novel writer boot camp. I have all the lessons and am going to start at the beginning. Not with my current WIP. I'm instead going to create a new story through the process. Just for fun and for knowledge.
Some day I will be a published author. For now I need to write for me or I'm going to lose writing altogether and that, I just cannot do. It would be like cutting out part of my soul, and who can live with only half a soul? Hmm, maybe there's a story idea there...
Sunday, February 26, 2012
When It Gets Scary
I'm a writer. I'm not published but I do write. And I've reached something of an impasse with my self-esteem. I'll be brutally honest - this story scares me.
I know why. I don't think I'm a talented enough writer to pull this story off. The complexity of this story shakes me to my core. It always has. I've attempted to write in various incarnations. In one I had the motivation wrong and threw in characters who didn't need to be there. In another draft, I attempted to downplay the portions of the story that truly frighten me. In a fast draft, I actually hit The End only to realize the story doesn't really end at this point and is likely a trilogy, I'm still not clear on motivation and my characterization falls flat.
I am now taking Discovering Story Magic with Laura Baker and wish the class was longer or my work life was less busy or I could be on vacation while attempting to get to the heart of this story. I went into the class willing to change everything. Every. Last. Word. Heck, I was willing to change my characters as well. Which is a good thing, because things, they are a changing. I'm still scared. Scared shitless that I will never be the skilled author I need to be to tell this story. But I'm working through the fear and not letting it get to me.
It would be really easy to walk away from this story and move on to something else. In fact, I may write another story while I continue to work on this one. I may have skills I need to develop before I can truly tell this tale. That's okay. I want to identify those skills and work on them. I think about authors I admire and I have to remember they all had a learning curve. Heck, Nora Roberts wrote shorter category romance before tackling Eve and Roarke or her more complex single titles. JR Ward started in single title and category romance before she started writing her Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Jill Shalvis wrote for many, many years before her latest series (which I love with a capital L).
What I'm trying to remind myself is this - writing is a learned skill. Every mistake, every misstep, every solid plot line and every completed book allows me to learn more about the craft and what it takes for me to write a book. I'm not my favorite authors. And I'm not where they are on their writing journeys. I'm me and I am where I am.
Yes, this story scares me. Does that make me a horrible writer? Only if I let the fear win.
I haven't forgotten to think about what I'm grateful for. This week, it's easy.
I know why. I don't think I'm a talented enough writer to pull this story off. The complexity of this story shakes me to my core. It always has. I've attempted to write in various incarnations. In one I had the motivation wrong and threw in characters who didn't need to be there. In another draft, I attempted to downplay the portions of the story that truly frighten me. In a fast draft, I actually hit The End only to realize the story doesn't really end at this point and is likely a trilogy, I'm still not clear on motivation and my characterization falls flat.
I am now taking Discovering Story Magic with Laura Baker and wish the class was longer or my work life was less busy or I could be on vacation while attempting to get to the heart of this story. I went into the class willing to change everything. Every. Last. Word. Heck, I was willing to change my characters as well. Which is a good thing, because things, they are a changing. I'm still scared. Scared shitless that I will never be the skilled author I need to be to tell this story. But I'm working through the fear and not letting it get to me.
It would be really easy to walk away from this story and move on to something else. In fact, I may write another story while I continue to work on this one. I may have skills I need to develop before I can truly tell this tale. That's okay. I want to identify those skills and work on them. I think about authors I admire and I have to remember they all had a learning curve. Heck, Nora Roberts wrote shorter category romance before tackling Eve and Roarke or her more complex single titles. JR Ward started in single title and category romance before she started writing her Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Jill Shalvis wrote for many, many years before her latest series (which I love with a capital L).
What I'm trying to remind myself is this - writing is a learned skill. Every mistake, every misstep, every solid plot line and every completed book allows me to learn more about the craft and what it takes for me to write a book. I'm not my favorite authors. And I'm not where they are on their writing journeys. I'm me and I am where I am.
Yes, this story scares me. Does that make me a horrible writer? Only if I let the fear win.
I haven't forgotten to think about what I'm grateful for. This week, it's easy.
- Laura Baker for her insight in plotting and brainstorming and her ability to understand what's in my head and verbalize it in a way that makes sense
- Farrah Rochon and Cynthia Justlin for their enouragement as we all walk this road called writing
- My favorite authors who continue to show me it can be done
- My mom, who has a birthday today! I'm so thankful she's a reader and taught me to love stories
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