It’s been a slow month, writing-wise. One rejection (I’m quite used to them by now, but this particular one stung more than usual), one sorta sale (made the first cut for an anthology, final cut to come next month, but I have reason to be more than a little hopeful). Very little actual writing for a variety of reasons, not the least of which being the amount of time spent reading for my Women Writers class. I’ve already mentioned my frustration lately with not writing-- it truly is something that I must do in order to be happy. Like PMS, I don’t try to deny it any longer. I’m a bitch when I don’t write (no smart comments, please).
I have a bunch of deadlines looming and I’ve already resigned myself to the fact that I’m not going to make them all. Time to pick and choose-- and see what I have ready or close-to-ready to submit. Ideally, I’d make every deadline and sell everything I write. Realistically… not so much. So, I weigh different factors to determine which projects will get my attention: do I have a personal relationship with the editor? Have they specifically requested I submit something? How much does it pay? Is it a publication that will bring me more recognition or garner some other intangible reward (a new connection, a different publisher, an exciting challenge)? Do I have something already written that could be edited or a good start on something that won’t take long to finish? Once I figure out my priorities, I make a list and work through it as quickly as possible. If I’m lucky, I might buy myself an extra week or two if I know the editor personally.
I’ll meet three or four of the seven (currently) deadlines I have for the next month. That’s not ideal, but it’s realistic. There will inevitably be a couple of things that cause me to adjust my goals-- a last minute call for submissions that trumps the others or an idea that grabs me and must be written now, regardless of whether it will work for any of my current deadlines. Writing is a craft and a business and it’s often difficult to maintain that delicate balance.
The wrench in the works is that fact that I’m getting more and more restless to work on a novel. Maybe next month…
There are times when I think I would do quite well on an island by myself. I’m not Cast Away material-- I would starve to death before I’d catch, kill, clean and cook my own fish and I would scream in frustration if I didn’t have access to hair conditioner, but if the island had a hut with hot and cold running water, a full pantry and refrigerator and a laptop with WiFi, I’d do just fine for a few weeks. Maybe even a few months.
There is a reason writers’ retreats are so popular. There is something very appealing about taking off to a cabin in the woods or house on the beach for a long stretch of uninterrupted time devoted entirely to creating. Time that belongs to no one but yourself. Time that you don’t have to account or apologize for. Time that is dedicated wholly to the pursuit of your craft, your gift, your soul.
I’m far too social to want to make a permanent home on that island in my mind. I thrive when I’m surrounded by people who know me best and I can’t imagine giving up the life I have for a life of palm trees and ocean waves… but I can dream about what a lovely vacation that would be.
Because of school, work and life in general, I have been neglecting my writing lately-- my real, creative writing-- and it’s beginning to eat at me. My edges are frayed, my soul is tattered, the words inside are piled up to my ears and starting to swim behind my eyeballs. I must write. It is an itch I have been unable to scratch, or at least scratch seriously, for over three weeks. It’s starting to affect my mood, which is not a good thing if you’re within smacking distance. I’m an angry woman writer. I must write.
Thankfully, I have a three day weekend to catch up on some things, including writing. Hopefully, lots of creative, productive writing and not just amusing e-mails and blog entries. I also have a literature review to work on for my Women Writers class (coincidentally enough, the topic I’ve chosen to write about is anger as a source of feminine creative power) and books to read, both for class and the next meeting of The Highly Selective Book Club With Only Two MembersTM.
I know it’s hard to believe, but no one has ever accused me of being a geek. Must be all that sex writing I do. It throws people off and keeps the geek reputation from sticking.
“Even as a child she had lived her own small life all within herself. At a very early period she had apprehended instinctively the dual life-- that outward existence which conforms, the inward life which questions.”
--Kate Chopin, The Awakening
“The time at length arrives, when grief is rather an indulgence than a necessity; and the smile that plays upon the lips, although it may be deemed a sacrilege, is not banished.” - V. Frankenstein
There are e-mails and phone calls to be returned, but Frankenstein has eaten up a chunk of my day. I read it as an undergrad, but I’m enjoying it more this time around. There is something to be said for age and experience when it comes to reading literature. Who said getting old is a bad thing? Oh, right, pretty much everyone.
I’ll finish the book tomorrow-- and return to the land of the living, writing and blogging.
What’s it all about?
Life. Love. Writing. Editing. Sex. Books. Romance. Movies. Friendship. Photography. Teaching. Coffee. (Lots of coffee.) Travel. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Memories. Experiences. Rants. Raves. Reviews. Babies. Pregnancy. Motherhood. Insanity. Musings of an insomniac writer. Want to know more?
