Tuesday, September 29, 2015
Writing, Changes, Lessons
My writing life is in a deep transformation. I will tell the details eventually. For right now, you just need to know that. My whole writing world is changing. The players. The game. And, the goal.
And, though the change has been going on for almost a month, and I am at great peace with the change, I woke up this morning with a sad, frustrated, stuck feeling about my writing life.
The need to submit, to write for a goal, to have a deadline set, to share my world, my stories, my voice was gnawing at me.
If this were two years ago, my method to get myself to write would have been to beat myself up a lot over all the failures I’ve had, beat myself into submission, literally, into submitting something, somewhere…in desperation and in fear. If this were two years ago, I would try to use failure as a motivator to write.
Not any more.
Sure, I heard the beating myself up words tumbling around in the head. Something like this: Look at you. You’re 40 years old and nothing to show for it. No book deal. No new publishing credits in years, other than your own blog or your own literary anthology. You have nothing to show for all the years of school and study in creative writing. YOU SUCK.
Then I was like, Hi there beating-myself-up-words. Nice to see you. Um, I’m not gonna buy into you right now. Actually, can you go fuck yourself? I’m gonna go…
Yep. I started to write. I started a blog post for another blog and then I started this.
Yes, yes, it’s true. I haven’t had anything published in a few years by anyone other than myself. Okay… I had an article in the SCBWI Bulletin a year ago. But in the scheme of everything, my publishing goals are still not reached. And, with the changes going on, it’s possible that my journey make take even longer than I once thought.
And, yes, I am 40 years old. But….look at other folks over 40 who had their big successes later in life:
So I take that. I take that concrete, real evidence that success after 40 is possible. I take, too, that my definition of success and my publishing goals may have to change. But who cares? Really? Who cares?
Not me. Not me.