~Start where you are because yesterday is gone
and tomorrow hasn't happened.~
Writing is something I've always done both in the work force
and for pleasure.
Each is in its own compartment. Both come from a different mindset. Writing is something I do and for me it’s always been relatively easy—depending upon the purpose. I can create a conversational tone in my writing or generate a very specific piece in formal or business English.
Each is in its own compartment. Both come from a different mindset. Writing is something I do and for me it’s always been relatively easy—depending upon the purpose. I can create a conversational tone in my writing or generate a very specific piece in formal or business English.
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I’m very focused and disciplined when working. Most of my
professional writing came with deadlines. I’ve always had a love/hate
relationship with deadlines. I very rarely missed a one. Working to deadlines
doesn’t give you time to be stuck. You have to find a way through whatever
block there is.
Writing for pleasure has been a different kettle of fish.
I’m a bit more freeform—whatever catches my fancy would go on paper. A wisp of
a dream I’d developed into a story, something I observed and it created a story
in my mind, and what I call my, what would happen if…? When I’d get
stuck I’d step away and mull it all over. Sometimes I’d come back to it and
write what’s perked in my mind. Other times I’d get bored or lose interest and
put it away. Not as disciplined as my professional writing.
Publishing deadlines require focus and discipline. I’ve been
a contributor in several essay projects. I've written non-fiction industry
oriented manuals. Teaching manuals or creative brochures. Most of these were
procedural or writing to capture the attention with a set purpose in mind.
Fiction publications were anthologies. Again, I had a deadline. I’ve always
found that writing comes with roadblocks and corners to get stuck in. When it’s
to deadline my mind finds a way around it.
A few years ago I decided to take my creative writing more
seriously and work toward publication. I’ve written several novels. I also have
quite a few unfinished manuscripts. Some of the unfinished are experiments in
different genres and some are those I lost interest in finishing. I didn’t have
a deadline on them so I could play a bit; try different things.
I queried some of the finished work and got some positives
back. I had a good writing routine down. I was focused. I had some editing that
needed to be done—I hate taking my creative work apart and putting back
together.
I had my blog which falls into professional writing, I was
attending writing conferences and enjoying the whole learning process. Hey, I
even tried an elevator pitch on a story not yet written but I had a preliminary
sketch on and the editor said she’d like to see it first before I queried it.
That floored me. I was on the top of the world in the beginning of 2010.
Then life went to hell. I mean like a fiery comet zooming for impact. Everything changed in the wake of the crash. Things do come in
threes—the tragedy of losing my brother at thirty-nine, my son and his
difficulties, then my health self-destructing. Crash and burn, baby. Big time.
And there was almost no Phoenix to be reborn.
Some writers are able to write through chaos. I’m not one of them.
In the beginning of my illness, I would try to write. I’d get so frustrated when the words wouldn’t come. It got to the point that as soon I met with any frustration I’d quit. That became a disturbing pattern.
In the beginning of my illness, I would try to write. I’d get so frustrated when the words wouldn’t come. It got to the point that as soon I met with any frustration I’d quit. That became a disturbing pattern.
When writing is something you do without thought, when it
comes easy; not being able to write is tough. I’m used to words flowing
not hiding like shadows in my mind—you see them, they look real, until you try
to touch them and they disappear. Having to stretch or reach for words for even
a simple paragraph? You feel like you’ve been amputated.
Things are better. I’m better. But I’ve lost time. I’ve lost
focus. The only thing that remains of that positive time is my blog and
finished and unfinished manuscripts. Contacts.
I’m working at rebuilding the focus and the writing routine.
It’s not easy. The burn of determination hasn’t quite returned but I do see the
new growth in development.
I set goals. Baby steps where I was once running. Days of two or
three thousand words are replaced with a measly five hundred and some days I
celebrate when I accomplish two hundred. I remind myself of those in sports
that have suffered a serious accident and what they have to go through to
regain lost ground. They have to know how hard to push themselves and that’s a fine
line.
Insecurities? You bet I have them. Can I break the pattern
of quitting when I get frustrated? Will I be able to regain my joy, focus, and
self-discipline? Do I want to? There are days I would tell you no. I don’t want
to. Those are the weak days.
One thing I have found is feeling sorry for myself, looking
behind rather than forward doesn't get me anywhere good. There is always a choice. I
can sit in a huddle and whine or I can work through it and celebrate the
success I have. Positive or negative.
I've always chosen positive.
- How do you handle life's setbacks?
