Yesterday a young salesperson showed an interest in the wording of my email address. Apparently it is a little different – I don’t use my name in it, for one thing. I told her I was a writer of Fantasy, and an artist, and tend to be “loosely tied to the space-time continuum.” [I like to think that this phrase originated with me, but it’s doubtful that it did]
Truthfully, I like being “different.” As the bumper-sticker saying goes, ‘You are special, just like everyone else in the Universe.’ Don’t you just love oxymorons? Sometimes being “different and special” is a rather lonely journey.
But that’s not the topic today.
Furniture purchase aside, this young person really wanted info about my WRITING. She wanted to know where she could read some of it? Uh…It had been soooo long… I yammered and stammered, trying to remember what the heck it is I DO/DID write and where she could find it.
My biz cards were outdated [plus I wasn’t carrying any]. I could barely remember the web-address of my own blog, for heaven’s sake! I did manage to give her my nom-de-plume and said ‘ah, just google me.’ How totally lame.
That’s how long it’s been since I started this (April ’11) and posted. And since last September, I have not written one, darn thing that counts. Also totally lame.
Yes, I’ve played around with re-writing, with brainstorming revision for Vanyl’s 2nd book. I messed around with kernel ideas for another novel. Maybe a dozen pages. Sort of. I tried to re-read the massive binder containing my Rom-Suspense and got to page 15, I believe, before closing it in disgust/boredom and ordering another mocha-latte. Hey, I even judged a national writing contest, an annual task that the Teacher Within enjoys hugely. I’ve thought about my projects, jumped hither and thither in my mind. Talked about them. Made notes, drawn bad diagrams.
But it’s not writing.
Another saying: ‘One hundred-percent of all the books that don’t get written and submitted are never published.’ [I think this is not a double-negative, and sorry, don’t know who to credit with this one, either].
Overall, I have been a writer who has not been writing for the past near-year. ‘Writers Block,’ some friends labeled it. ‘Stress,’ others have said. ‘Depression! Get on meds!’ was another response [likely a valid insight]. I tend to blame most of it on giant-iffic changes in our lives in the past year. Selling a house. Building a house. Marrying-off a daughter. My fibromyalgia/fatigue bugging me. Having adult kids move in and out…and in and out. Moving into said new home and making it comfy, pretty and functional.
In addition to having a quirky email, I am also one of those writers who cannot create if I am under immense stress or change. Are you a creative person like that?
Today, I decided to call my lack of writing a Sabbatical. How elegant! How scholarly-sounding! Except I’ve not been paid a darn thing while taking this “leave of absence” nor have I earned more credits toward the Masters I’d still like to finish. Well, I’ve sold some photos and artwork…that’s been nice. But when you are a writer and don’t write, it is also disturbing. When you talk about something but don’t do it is hypocrisy.
As of now, we’re unpacked in our new house, closed on the old one; the daughter has moved to another state with new hubby, the adult-kid is…sigh. Okay, that ‘kid’ is still doing the revolving door thing. Stress? Ha! I snap my fingers at it. Like bad hairdays, it will always be with us.
But I’ve started writing again—this blog post!– and will keep on. I’m going to set gentle but firm goals. Choose a manuscript to revise or rewrite. Jump around between projects when I’m stuck on one. Limit my time on Facebook and playing online games.
Thank you, Erin-at-the-store, for giving me an unintended kick.
Let the fun begin…again.