I've been kindof down about writing lately. Revisions are never going to end, this chapter stinks, my ending needs so much work that I should start over with it.
In "Virginia Woolf Writing Workshop", a line is taken from one of her letters that you must slay the 'house angel' to write. You know, the one that takes care of everyone. That your writing time must be inviolable. I've tried to do that to some extent, but I am the mother. Mother of four. Me. Hubby is helpful, but usually homework is done, dinner is done and I'm washing dishes when he gets home. I have been struggling with balance and setting aside time to write, time to clean (but who wants to do laundry? Not me). Truth be told, I hate housekeeping. Hate it.
I was going to blog a bit about that this morning, but first I checked my email.
There was an email from the lit magazine I'd submitted to months ago. I'd stopped thinking about it even on a weekly basis, so I didn't expect to care much. And then it was a rejection. I cried. Who wouldn't? Then I called up Nathan and read it to him.
And he said, "But that's good isn't it? You're doing good."
Here's the personalized line: "This is a facinating/interesting and unique piece with good writing; well done, Kelly."
So it's been a half-hour, and instead of feeling depressed and wondering if I can do this, I feel hope. I don't know how much was the effort that was made to personalize the email and encourage me, or my husband's support, but I feel reassured that I can write. I don't know why that's still something I wonder, but it is.
I think (just guessing here) that validation is the best part of being published. Money couldn't hurt as part of that validation- enough to justify the hours I've spent with my computer would be nice. But writing is so personal. I think the reason that the baby metaphor works is that feeling of "love my baby/story, love me."
So somebody loved my baby enough to hold it and smile. That feels good. That means that someone out there will be the right match for my stories. I hope.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Why doesn't this feel the way it's supposed to?
Labels:
rejection,
short story,
time to write
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I can't even tell you how inspiring you are. I can tell that writing is something similar to you and me. Therapy of sorts. I have been so impressed with your grit, organization, and get-go to do something about it. Don't give up!
ReplyDeleteLove ya Amber. I love reading your blog, too.
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