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The Writer Writes...Life As It Is...

Not as it should be...

Or is it?  At this point in time, I am editing a manuscript that will end up being a collection of my dark fairy tales.  One or two have seen previous publication either in anthologies or on the web, but the rest are pretty original.  And it is comforting to print out the 156+ pages and sit and line edit like I used to do in the old days.

There are times when a writer does need to go back and get in touch with that part of their past that they liked best.  I liked editing hard copy.  I edit on computer only when in a rush and forced to do so.  But if I had my druthers, there would be a paper copy on my lap, me with pen or pencil in hand, scribbling in margins, slashing through words, correcting spelling and punctuation, adding words...

It is all part of that process.

Lately, I have caught myself questioning the purpose of my career.  I get too focused on what it should be at times, and forget that it is what it is, and I have to live with that and go back to writing because I like to write and not because I have some skewed impression that I should be rich and famous.

Years ago, I had a small booklet that was written by a fictional woman named Old Ma Barnes who apparently had a weird idea of poetry.  It was one of those little Hallmark Card books from back in the 70's.  I bought it on a whim because it made me laugh.

Laughter is important to me.  There were darker threads always running through parts of my life so I had to have laughter to keep from killing someone.  (No, not myself--I can honestly say I have never had a desire to kill myself, even when things got really bad at times--rather I had a dim outlook towards what I perceived as those who were determined to keep me from living my life and enjoying myself, and writing and laughing and sports and horses were always the ways I kept sane enough NOT to give in to baser urges.)

The little book was poems that made me giggle.

Though some gave me thought.

Particularly the following:

I probably won't never be famous,
Or Pretty or Rich or Well Read.
I probably won't never do nuthin'.
I think I'll go back to bed...

Dim and dark as that may sound, there is an underlying truth to it.  So I am never the Queen.  I am never the belle of the ball.  I am the bridesmaid, but never the bride.  I am the almost there.  I am the Salieri of writing.  Someone who is capable of perceiving genius even when the path evades me.

But the real thought that it provoked in me was "Yes, I could give up and go back to bed, but I would rather keep writing for me, myself and I and enjoy the act of writing.  If other buy what I write, fine.  If they don't, their loss.  I can be satisfied in knowing I have accomplished something without giving up."

Now before anyone wonders if I am losing my mind and going to the dark place where the IMPoster tells me I don't deserve to be a top dog, I am not.  I feel fine.  I am keeping busy.

And as I said, I am editing a book because someone is buying that book for publication.

Life goes on.  As much as I would like to go back to bed (it is warm and comfortable there, and cold and snowy outside, and with a good book and a hot cup of tea, it is the perfect place to be), I am staying up and trudging on.

I just came out here because if I don't, the kind folk at Livejournal will shut me down.

See, I can be motivated. ;-)


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Mar. 26th, 2014 04:35 am (UTC)
Excellent sense.

Much more sensible than one Salieri I knew who only saw her failures and ended things. Ten years ago today. I needed your post today; thank you.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )

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