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Posts tagged ‘expectations’

Jul 28

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Cathy: Confession time

treeMy big goal for while my boys are visiting at their dad’s for a month is to work regularly on my youth novel. I moved it from the back burner to the front, I turned on the burner, I even stirred the pot a little. Instead of bringing it to the heady steaming boil, and really adding some spices, I turned the burner to low, and have been simmering instead.

What’s that old saying about the road to Hell? Ah yes, my road looks like this from The Monday Page last week:

this week’s goals: paper org, 2 contests, 1 blog, review and work on novel. at least 1 chapter, per 3 days. 5-10 pages each, kid novel, less ambitious than harry potter. more like a jerry spinelli or sharon creech. complete 2 by end of week. is this unrealistic with nursing baby and mil sitting in office with me?

So I re-read, check. I revised minute typos and grammar, check. I got caught up on storyline, check. Then I stared at one new paragraph about waking up on Thanksgiving morning for about 5 days straight. I bopped around the internet with the excuse that I was looking at how other creative moms squeezed in their stuff around family. I took the dog and baby C for lots of walks. I did bits and pieces of Wreck This Journal. I let myself get peeved about something about some of the time my boys are spending with their father and stewed that for about a day and a half. I took photographs on my walks. See evidence here. I even had some lovely scheduling advice from Miranda on The Monday Page, to help me with my goal. In the end, one paragraph does not exactly equal two five-ten page chapters. Then I remembered:

Baby steps. It’s been a long time since I worked on a large project. It’s been a long time since I actively thought about this particular project. I believe in an earlier blog, I mentioned admitting to myself that my creative production is a very difficult thing to schedule. It happens in its own time, no matter how hard I try to be a good doobie and write my lists, write my intentions and schedule down, what comes out seems to have its own pace and nothing I can do can force it otherwise.

Now the good part is that I have re-read it. I am swimming in the dream of what these characters are doing next. Through this website and the blogs by many of the creative women on this website, I am maintaining an open channel to my creative nature. I have a lot of thanks to give for that. Thank you. Now, let’s see how progress goes this week. I meditatively breathe out the fact that I did not meet expectations, which were after all, only mine. I breathe in the chance to do it again.

And I did complete two contest entries and this blog. My freelance business cards arrived, too. So there. Now, I’ll turn up that burner again. Maybe I’ll even write the serving of the Thanksgiving turkey this week.

May 8

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Christa: My life, my work

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been working on an article for one of the trade magazines I worked for before I had children. I don’t do much of this anymore. I learned early on that I could only write articles when I could be sure that sources would be patient with the possibility of hearing little voices in the background, and for the most part, I couldn’t be sure of that at all.

Last December, I did manage to write a strong article using two sources that had no problem hearing little voices. (It helped that my in-laws were available to watch the boys one of the days, and that my husband had a 10-day school vacation.) The experience was so good that I thought maybe I could write more articles. So when a friendly source emailed at the end of February to ask if I’d work with him again, I jumped at the chance.

And it went great, as I expected. He’s a great source. He’s fun to talk to (even a little flirtatious, which does wonders for my self-image even underneath the kid-crusts and unwashed hair). And he’s incredibly well-connected and helpful. This time around, in fact, he set me up with all the sources I needed. I didn’t even have to make first contact, and I didn’t have to wait on people. He forwarded my emails. He stayed on top of them.

Which turned out to be absolutely critical to my being on time. By the time my husband’s April school vacation rolled around, I realized I’d hardly started this article. (The source’s schedule was as much to blame as mine.) But he honored my request to wrap it up that week, while I had childcare, and so did his contacts. The weekend after I completed his and another interview (and got two emailed replies to my questions), Puck came down with a 103F fever, and I had a house showing two days before the article was due. One of my last interviews was done in the car while Hamlet stood outside, drenching my window with water from the hose.

Yet I got it done on time. And realized that in general, I cannot write any more articles until both children are in school.

Which is a damn shame. Along with the kick I get from being flirted with (not the first time this has happened with a source, though rare), I really do get a charge from writing articles on public safety, a subject that is near and dear to my heart. I recognized this today especially, when I woke up out of gas, moved through the day like frozen molasses (much to my older boy’s chagrin), and then–at the end of the day, my worst time–magically improved as I spoke to one of my editors on a different topic.

I need to work. I need to interact with adults on very specific topics–I need to feel competent as a human being before I can feel competent as a mother. And I need to create. Would that my sons were both happy to hang out on their own while I talk on the phone for an hour, but they aren’t. It will be at least another year before I can find that fulfillment. But at least now I know it isn’t completely dead.

Apr 22

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Miranda: Infant versus internet…a losing proposition?

storkAn article in this morning’s Boston Globe has added to my anxiety about managing work, creativity, and a new baby. Last time I had a newborn (three years ago) I didn’t work as much as I do now, and I wasn’t quite as plugged into the internet. Even so, I felt guilty about the amount of time I spent nursing while typing with one hand, eyes glued to my computer screen instead of my beautiful baby.

I tried to tell myself that it’s not much different than staring at the pages of a book, but it is. When I’m reading and my kids talk to me, I hear them. When I’m staring at my laptop–either working, being creative, or goofing off–the machine seems to cast this hypnotic spell that enables me to tune out the rest of the world. Sometimes the kids have to jump up and down to get my attention.

Obviously, I’m not alone. The Globe article, entitled “Connection Failure?” discusses mothers of newborns who are glued to their computers much of the day. The article raises several concerns: time spent on the web is associated with depression; mothers of newborns may be satisfied enough with their virtual connections that they stop trying to get out and establish tangible relationships; and worse, that Mom may end up more connected to her computer than she is to her infant. Pretty much a lose-lose situation for baby:

Mothers have always multitasked, from foraging with babies strapped to their backs to sewing, engaging an older child, or even cooking while nursing. Is Internet use any different?

“If you observe women who, let’s say, knit, their gaze is moving back and forth from the baby to knitting,” Rich said. “The Internet demands a lot more attention. You’re receiving and sometimes sending communication, so there’s sustained concentration away from the baby.”

Habitual Internet use while nursing, especially if the baby’s awake and seeking the mother’s eyes, concerns Rich. “It can be a real rejection for the baby, for whom you fill his or her world,” he said.

Ouch. For me, this time around–with so much on my plate, including a nonfiction book in progress (and four other children), I’m worried. I don’t want my new baby (or any of my kids, for that matter) to think of me as inseparable from my laptop. I know that my goal needs to be boundaries, but I’m not sure what that looks like. I have childcare in my home three days a week for my toddler, but I imagine that for the first four months, my childcare provider won’t be doing much with the baby aside from changing the occasional diaper. This means a lot of nursing during work time/creative time, as in, nursing while staring at the computer.

How have the rest of you navigated this mine field? How bad is the guilt? (Like we need one more thing to feel guilty about.) Does your family threaten to cut the cord on your computer? When you’re sleep deprived and you want to keep up with your blog reading while feeding the baby, what do you do? If holding your baby while typing your novel is the only way to finish your book, do you bite the bullet and hope for the best?

Apr 10

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Alana: Introducing myself!

Thank you for the invite to join this wonderful group of writing mums. I feel like I’ve just walked into a room of old friends having just been on a holiday with a bunch of strangers. At last, people with my problems – and my ambitions! Thanks for the invite Miranda, and if it suits everyone, I’ll bring along a bottle of wine, put on my Abba CD and kick back with you girls for a while.


I’m a mum of two from Dublin, Ireland – one is 2 and a half and the other is 10 months… yes i know, I’ve told my husband he’s not allowed to even pass me on the stairs for at least another year…


I gave up my high-octane job after I had Daisy, and despite loving being her mum, i morphed from being the workaholic Iron Lady to the housework weary Ironing Lady. So I began to write. Ironically having kids has allowed me to fulfill my lifetime ambition of being a writer. I now write regularly for parenting magazines (although that makes me sound like a full-blown freelancer – the reality is I write when they sleep, and when I can’t sleep) and am attempting my first novel (note the optimistic use of ‘first’!).


Some days… most days.. I feel like a piece of my daughters’ playdo – uber elasticated for easy pulling in every direction, and maleable enough to morph into different shapes when the demand requires – mum, wife, cleaner, cook, writer, daughter, friend, mum, secretary, engineer, mum, daughter-in-law, mum, neighbour, houseworker, shopper, planner, mum, hugger, play friend, teacher, ……. me?


Every second of every day has a specific task dedicated to it – the nano-second my babes are down for their lunchtime nap (my greatest achievement was getting them to sleep at the same time!) I’m at my computer writing until the first squeak on the monitor pulls me back to the day job.


My novel takes a back seat so much of the time, it might as well be in the car behind. My mum and my husband tell me to slow down, and calm down, and sit down, and MOST IRRITATINGLY OF ALL tell me not to push myself with the book. I need to rest. Yes i do. But i can’t rest for needing to write another line. I have to get off chapter 5 for god’s sake – it’s been 4 months!


I have the same angel / devil on my shoulder arguments as you Miranda – should I rest and forget the burning (more like smoldering) passion in me, or do I plough ahead and write the damn thing? Every day when I’m beyond myself with exhaustion after another interrupted night (we’ve all been sick pretty much without break since the week before Christmas) and I look enthusiastically at the computer but gaze longingly at the sofa, I can hear Oscar Wilde sidle up to me and whisper his famous quip: “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of one’s trousers to the seat of one’s chair.” Clearly he was a man. With no kids. I write standing up, on the loo, in the bath, in my head as I wait for the traffic lights to change and in between verses of the Wheels on the Bus.


Anyway, I’ve turned into one of those irritating people who turn up at a party and hog the floor. Just wanted to say I’d love to join your group, I understand, empathise, and share your struggle and hope we can all get a few words written in the next wee while. Every little helps….

Apr 5

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Brittany: Where’s the finish line?

Christa’s post last week left me with a lot to think about. I’m sure I had read it before, that authors are often judged on the basis of their debut novel’s sales, that depending on its success and failure, a career can be born or lost. I probably skimmed over that part in some guide book, thinking that it didn’t apply to me. But after Christa mentioned it, and I responded with a pollyanna-esque comment that now makes me cringe, I started to re-consider my point of view. Her concern is something that bears contemplation… which I have been doing nonstop ever since.

Since that post, I haven’t been able to write. I’ve been happy with my re-writes up to this point, but I wonder now if I’m as far ahead as I thought I was. Is my sparse writing style enough? Can I do better? The other big questions that spring to mind are when will I really be finished? And will I know I’m finished when I get there?

It’s ironic that my book is about home improvement when time and again I have likened the re-writing, re-editing, re-assessing process to the continual construction of the Winchester Mystery House. I think we can safely say that the “additions” to that house didn’t improve it in any way. I wonder about this as I tear apart my novel and try to reconstruct it into something better, something more functional. Am I simply making additions or am I actually making improvements?

I can see this going on indefinetely. The more I learn of the cut-throat behind-the-scenes business of the publishing industry, the more my fear grows that I’m never going to be finished. I was always the student who wanted to turn in my best work, but deadlines always loomed at school. Now there are no deadlines. I can tweak endlessly. And because I lack the experience to know when enough is enough, I might very well end up doing that.

So my question is to those of you who’ve declared your project finished and have gone on to see it published: How do you know when you’ve reached the finish line?

Apr 4

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Nina: What can I bring to this party?

Well, since I’ve been invited to the party, I am wondering what I have to bring to this gathering. I’m honored to be included in this creative sisterhood, and I’m impressed with what I’ve read and seen since I arrived. But I still am trying to figure out what I have to offer. I’ve been thinking about it all day . . . . . while I was at my daughters’ school listening to first graders read “Never Say Never” over and over and over again. I thought about it after school when we drove down the hill to WalMart to buy the new “Alvin and the Chipmunks” dvd that I promised Gracie if she earned her “Good Worker Awards” at school this week. And I was still thinking about it when we arrived home with way more “stuff” than I intended on buying on this little shopping trip. Oh well, that always happens whenever I go shopping with husband and kids in tow. “We really need these, Honey,” he’ll say as he throws in a pair of slippers and a 10-piece miniataure tool set. “Look at THIS, Mom! We REALLY need a new sleeping bag / tote bag / sun glasses / flip flops / Dora watch,” whatever . . . . I’m tired and I just want to go home!

Having been a mother for almost 35 years (yes, I probably am old enough to be YOUR mother!) I’ve had many experiences and years of joy and heartache . . . . .maybe THAT’s what I can bring to this party. Not that I know so much more than younger mothers, it’s just that I’ve been doing this for a really long time, and most people who know my husband and I wonder if we are totally insane that we decided to adopt our daughters after all our other children were grown up and most of them having families of their own. Could be . . . . but I guess we are happy crazy people! Being a mom can be very exhausting, especially if you have a creative spirit. I am always amazed at the other moms that I meet who seem to have nothing else to do but drop their kids off at school, and then go home and watch Oprah. Now, not that there’s anything wrong with watching Oprah . . . . . I guess, I don’t know because if I had an hour to do whatever I wanted to do, it sure wouldn’t be to watch TV, no matter who’s chatting with whom on a couch in the middle of a studio audience!

So how do we balance the demands and responsibilities of motherhood with our need for time to express our creativity? I’ve tried lots of different things, including the one hour bath time, the dining room table tent, and all kinds of other tricks to appease my sense of . . . . what? . . . . guilt? . . . . . that I need time for ME! We are all such creative moms, whether we write, paint, dance, sing, design, sew, draw – and that is just who we are. And that is OK! And whether or not you believe in a Higher Power, or God, or whatever works for you, I think it is OK with the universe that we, as women, as wives, as mothers, as people, need time to be who we were meant to be. So . . . . my first offering as an invited guest is this: Let yourself be yourself. Simple, right? It really is, because if there is one thing I’ve learned in all the years that I’ve been a mom is this one straightforward truth: if I collapse under the weight of the “expectations” for my life, I am not really very helpful to those who really, truly do need me. Oh, expectations . . . . let’s chat about THAT topic one of these days!

If you can afford a few hours a week for child care, even if you are “just” working at home, do it for YOU. Or trade with another mom who also needs some time to herself. Find a way, without feeling guilty, to allow your creative spirit to soar beyond the everyday demands. Give yourself the gift of YOU, and that gift will overflow to everyone else in your life. Don’t waste the years that I wasted, thinking that if I just worked a little harder, a little longer . . . . just got a little less sleep, or deprived myself so that others could have everything they want and always be happy . . . . . . it simply didn’t work then, and it won’t work for you, either. Lower the bar . . . . isn’t that what one of you suggested? Touche!

Mar 23

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Miranda: New leaves

new leafI gather that spring may actually be coming to New England. The vernal equinox was March 20, and even though it’s hard to believe, I trust that within the next month our season will actually shift. We’ll stop needing coats and scarves. The snow will finally melt. And then: the growing season. I dream every day of that pale green blush that suddenly appears on our bare branches, slowly erupting into dewy new foliage. It’s like magic, every year.

The prospect of warmer weather has framed my thoughts about many of our recent posts. There’s a struggle between the Little Engine that Could’s “I think I can…I think I can” and a mother’s reality of “You’ve got to be kidding me.” For some of us, myself included, quitting–even temporarily–has seemed like the option of choice, or perhaps inevitable.

I think I got caught up in my plans to finish my nonfiction book, and–as Bethany recently blogged–suffered from unrealistic expectations in terms of output and regularity of schedule. The bar was too high. That said, while it may be the path of least resistance, I don’t want to include quitting on my menu. I can’t. I think about it, but I know what will happen: I’ll go back to being miserable, cranky, self-absorbed, and resentful. Not only do I owe it to myself, but I owe it to my husband and children. I am a better person when I create. It doesn’t have to be monumental, but if does have to be regular enough that I can erase the question marks from my calendar.

So I’m stepping back, while stepping up. Each of us needs a strategy for NOT throwing in the towel. (Sure, we’ll all need to take a little break from time to time, but that should be a positive, proactive choice–not a painful, wistful resignation.)

Instead of a milestone goal for each week (such as “Finish Chapter 3”–a goal I’ve stated more times on the Monday Page than I care to admit) my goal is going to be to work on my book for 10 minutes every day. That’s it. You may know, as I do, that this is a great trick to play on yourself. You know you can commit to 10 minutes–ANY of us can do that–and so the prospect of sitting down to write is not so intimidating. On many days, I may really only have 10 minutes–but on many others (such as this afternoon) I might “accidentally” write for an hour. If I only write for 10 minutes, I am a big success. I’ll be keeping the creative flow going, and will be thinking about my work even when I’m not working, because it will be fresh. And if I stumble into a bonus, well then, brilliant.

Christa has on several occasions noted her success in shooting for a very low output, and being satisfied with that. It makes perfect sense. Why turn up your nose at a fleeting keyboard session, only to hold out for a “real” creative stint–that never happens? Much better to keep yourself going in minor, even microscopic–intervals. Brittany can also attest to the critical mass that suddenly appears after inching along for what feels like a very long time. I need to adjust myself to this paradigm, because in the near future I’m going to find myself back in Land of the Newborn–where long stretches of anything simply don’t exist.

In the vein of “we can do it,” I’d also like to celebrate a few successes on this blog, as detailed on the Monday Page: Brittany finished her novel and is deep in revisions (huge round of applause, Brittany); Jenn has written more than half of her contracted textbook; Lisa completed her contracted history book (awesome!); Lisa and myself both revised short stories and submitted them to contests; Bethany finished at least three chapters of her novel and is shopping material; and Christa finished at least three chapters of her new novel.

Pretty damn impressive. I never made the cheerleading squad, but if I could, I’d do something eye-catching to congratulate everyone. Hard to believe I’m quoting Dory for the second time in a week, but, “Just keep swimming…just keep swimming…”

Oh, and keep an eye out for spring, if you’re living in the glacial northeast.

Mar 20

3 Comments

Christa: Confession time

I’m going to admit to something that I haven’t wanted to admit to myself for a long time: the reason for my creative funk, all my questioning and browbeating, is at heart a temper tantrum. Why? Because I didn’t get my way.

By now, I was “supposed to” have landed an agent. I really was convinced that my writing was good enough. Even though I knew it was certainly possible that it wouldn’t happen within six months, I didn’t really think it wouldn’t. I believed at least that I would get requests for fulls and that those would tide me over.

I did get those requests, but early on, and nothing since about Thanksgiving. While I’m aware there are other options in publishing (I’m looking at small presses), I’ve still found myself wondering: what’s really in store for my career? Is this really what’s meant for my life?

I hope not. Because the thought of not being a novelist really, really depresses me.

But here’s the other thing, the other part of this confession. What I was hoping for was to be a wunderkind. I’m turning 33 in a month, and I really just wanted to be “discovered” and published before I turned 40. I wanted this because no one has ever thought much of me (at least until I met my husband). I was “nothing special” for many years. Two teachers loved my writing, but my parents didn’t love it and my peers didn’t get it. I have always wanted to “prove” myself, even though none of those people will ever be satisfied.

An author gave me some advice a few years back that I’ve kept, and now that I’m in this position, her words mean a lot more to me than they did then: “There’s been a lot of discussions of youth/writing recently. But you know what? There’s absolutely no percentage to being a wunderkind because, eventually, they’re going to take the kind away and you’re going to have to be a wunder on your own. And, at the risk of sounding very, very vain, I’m fairly confident that there’s not a 30-something on the planet who can write a wiser book than I can. Better, more beautiful? Sure. But there are things we learn as life goes on that makes writing richer with each decade. So think about the life as part of the writing, and don’t beat yourself up.”

What elicited her advice? My fear, even then, that I wouldn’t get anything done because of my kids.

In many ways I’m in a better position now than I was then. I have a number of short story credits in good, reputable markets; I’m helping to edit a magazine. So I can’t say I’m still stuck in a rut, and that’s good. Meanwhile, like I wrote to Bethany, fiction is an intrinsic part of my sense of balance. For my own sake and that of my family, I need to continue to pursue it. Even if it’s only a few sentences a day. And that “wunderkind” thing? Well, maybe that’s my personal bar that needs to be lowered.

Mar 19

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Bethany: Hi. I’m Bethany. I’m lowering the bar.

It’s my new mantra. Let’s hold hands, take deep breaths, and recite after me:

“I, [insert name here], am going to not push myself to the point of exhaustion.  I, [insert name here], am going to let others help me. I, [insert name here], am going to let the chips fall where they may AND stay focused on the long term goals.”

Really, it’s been a rough few weeks here.  If it wasn’t a sickness thing, it was work.  And if wasn’t work it was a family thing. Or an errand to run.  Or a work call to take. Seriously–does it ever end?

The short answer is no.   Life will keep throwing stuff over the fence at you all the time. It’s up to you whether to take it as it comes and go with the flow.  Or the alternative.  Which is stressing out and causing everyone around you to feel the pressure.

Naturally, I’m a perfectionist. I’m a Type-A (just like Miranda).  I want to do it all. Hell, I try to do it all. But these past few weeks, the plain truth is in front of me.  It. Is. Impossible.  Honestly. Take a look at yourself.  All that you want to do.  And that all that you can really get done?  Does it match? If you’re like me, you ask too much of yourself.

So this week–and hopefully more long term–I’m trying to be more honest with myself.  Take inventory. Look around. And see what is realistic.  And more HEALTHY in expectations. Can I not write this week?  Bummer.  But guess what?  I got to spend quality time with my family and friends without the guilt.

And I’d like to think a little less that the bar is lowering. It’s more about putting the bar at the level where it should be, and balancing on it the “right” way.  Anyone else care to join me?

Mar 10

9 Comments

Miranda: Admitting defeat–temporarily?

In January, I blogged on the push-pull conflict of deciding when to push hard, and when to be “realistic.” Being a type-A, superwoman wannabe, I generally believe that pushing myself hard is my best path to success. no wayBut now, for the moment, I may have to admit that life is handing me such a large plateful that I might not be able to meet my weekly objectives, regardless of how hard I push. (And in fact, pushing myself may be the last thing I need right now.)

I’ve been trying to pare down and organize my workload in anticipation of maternity leave, with the hope of finding a bit more breathing room. But I’ve been totally distracted: My family has been hit unusually hard by the sore throat/wracking cough/fever virus, which seems to hang on forever. I got it myself last Wednesday evening, and I’m still in the trenches. On top of all that, some mysterious health issues resulted in spending the better part of two days last week at the ER, having all kinds of tests that a pregnant woman would like to avoid. Bottom line is I’m pretty healthy, aside from this nasty virus, but I need to reduce my workload and focus on staying healthy. A lot easier said than done. How do you do less when you’re used to doing (nearly) everything? And how do you do less when your house is on the market and you have to stage the house for showings? How do you do less when you already have four kids and are about to have another? How do you do less when you really wanted to finish your book before the baby comes, but you’re only on page 160? How do you do less when you’re terrified of not doing what you set out to do?

I realize that at a certain point, doing less is something that arrives, not something you opt for. I’ve been trying to finish chapter three for nearly a month–and making snail-like progress at best. So in that sense, I am already doing less. But that doesn’t feel so great when it’s not a conscious choice.

What should I opt for now? Keep on trying, with the mindset of taking advantage of any small opportunity that comes my way? Or give up on my weekly goals and the objective of having a nearly complete draft before the end of April–and instead, focus on my health and well-being, as well as my family’s? Or just give in temporarily, and see where things are at in a few weeks–even though this may add to the pressure?

What would you do?

Mar 6

4 Comments

Brittany: Of course it’s worth it

I strongly believe that being a writer is a strange cosmic gift that most people have no control over. The vast majority of people have no desire whatsoever to sit down and commune with a keyboard for hours on end in the pursuit of what will usually amount to minimal success. The cold hard truth is that most of us writers will never be rich or famous. We know it. The world knows it. But we do it anyway, because we can and we want to. We throw our writing out into the world and cross our fingers.

Back in the sixties, a couple of song writers wrote a song for Elvis called “A Little Less Conversation”. No doubt they were under a deadline. No doubt they worried about the feedback they were going to get on it. The probably spent several sleepless nights getting the song just right. And then they turned it over to the movie execs and it was out of their hands. It was written. It was on a record. They had to wait and see what would happen next.

The song was not exactly a smash hit. It went absolutely nowhere except the B-side graveyard.

No doubt Mac Davis and Billy Strange wondered if it was worth it, why they bothered, and all those other existentialist questions we writers ask ourselves in moments of frustration.

And then, in 2001, “A Little Less Conversation” made its way onto the “3000 Miles to Graceland” soundtrack. Since then, it’s been everywhere. In the clubs. On tv. It was even Howard Dean’s 2004 campaign song. You think Davis and Strange expected that? I seriously doubt it.

And who knows why it wasn’t successful in 1968? Maybe the lyrics were too provocative? Maybe the rhythm didn’t play well for contemporary listeners? Maybe it didn’t sound enough like “Hey Jude” – the number one song that year. Who knows why the universe is so fickle?

The point is that it took thirty-three years for the song to be a hit. But it was out there when audiences were ready for it. And it was out there because despite all the angst and grief associated with writing it, it got written anyway.

It’s a really catchy song, and one that got stuck in my head the last few days I was finishing up my novel. I found this story on Wikipedia while I was looking up the lyrics. Look up the lyrics sometime and tell me if those aren’t the very things you’d tell your muse if you could. In any case, the song inspired me to just keep plugging away. We never know what will happen to our words, but our words are timeless. They may not work today, but they might work tomorrow. And deep down I think we all realize this. This is why we keep working at it.

Mar 4

4 Comments

Christa: Is it worth it?

I started this as a comment, but then decided it was getting to be too lengthy and would be better off as an entry…

I’m feeling really bummed out about my fiction career right now. It seems like everyone and their brother is getting a book deal except me. I feel like the biggest loser. Even though I know the reality is harsh, and likely to get harsher with the economy the way it is (i.e. less likelihood of folks taking a risk on a new writer), it’s like this: finally having accepted that you will never be part of the “in crowd,” and that’s OK because they’re boring, you set your sights on the A/V Club instead. Except that even the A/V geeks won’t let you in, because you bring nothing–no new talent, no new insight–to them. How freaking depressing is that??

Part of the problem is the novel I’m shopping. It’s my first. I mean my first-first. It’s gone through many iterations and it’s finally at the point where I think it’s reasonably publishable. Was it a practice novel? Yes, oh yes. Should it be published? I don’t know anymore. Other writers tell me that I’m likely to find an agent who will believe in it and take it (even if it needs revisions) and try to sell it, but I have something like 80-90 rejections. Small potatoes? I don’t know. I do know that by now, I could try to sell better. If I did that, my other option with this first novel is to sell it to a zine that is taking novels that won’t get published, but that the author would like to see the light of day. (That really is in her guidelines!) I’m not sure if my novel fits that description. And I’m not sure I should have spent so much time and money already only to can it and move on to the next project (actually a sequel, but could work as a standalone).

I think it doesn’t help that I’ve completely lost momentum on the novella, and I haven’t written any short stories that are in any shape to send out to zines. I just don’t feel like anyone cares whether I write fiction. Probably no one does. So then why do it? Because I care? Why should I care? I have better things I could do with my time. Like learn how to play with my kids.

Oh well. I’m whining. But anyone else ever faced this?

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