Writing is the one thing I do for myself that involves no anxiety, uncertainty or vacillation. I won’t allow it. We all need one aspect of our lives where we’re just free to be ourselves without influence of outside pressure. I’ve decided it will be writing.
What that means on a daily basis is that, no matter what I face that day or how much of a work load I carry, I give myself one hour first thing in the morning with only a cup of coffee between sleep and empty or unfinished pages. I don’t even allow the baleful eyes of my sweet hound dog to tempt me away from my task. She’s learned, after a year or so of this routine, that the leash is next on my list.
What it means on the weekends is that I allow the computer to call with a voice louder than domestic tasks. I
don’t always listen to that voice—if I did, I’d have laundry to the ceiling, and I’d never get a closet or drawer cleaned out. But I give that voice the prominence it deserves, and sometimes it wins out over other sounds. [Oh, okay, being a lousy homemaker helps in this case.]
But even with major book events, I let only the joy of being an author come through the doors with me. I’m shy by nature so speaking before groups or sitting behind a table trying to get passersby to stop and look at our book should not be comfortable for me. And I feel the jitters bubble towards the surface occasionally. Instead of waiting for them to break through, however, I remind myself that I’m there as a writer. Why should I care if someone ignores me or I stumble over my words?
The only experience I have to compare this with is my wedding. I planned, I saved, I fussed before the event. But when the day came, and despite the fact I knew I’d trip walking up the steps in a gown with a train, I honestly felt no nervousness. I asked myself after the ceremony why and came up with this answer: because I knew what I was doing was right. I didn’t doubt for a second that I was marrying the right man so I didn’t care what others thought of the wedding arrangements, how I looked, or whether I fell flat on my face. I was exactly where I needed to be.
When I sit before the computer playing with words; when I sit with mom at my side and a stack of books in front of us; when mom and I find ourselves among a group of strangers looking to be entertained or informed, I know I’m where I’m supposed to be. It took a long time to get here, but who cares. I’ve arrived.
–Genilee Swope Parente
October 7, 2013 at 1:13 pm
I refuse to let any kind of stress enter my world while at a book signing. It feels too good and exciting. I still can’t believe when someone hands me money for something I wrote! Going to book signings, writer group meetings, writing workshops or really anything writing wise definitely confirms to me that I’m doing the right thing!
October 9, 2013 at 11:41 am
And that, my dear fellow writer and sister, is why you are an inspiration. I can’t wait to go together to one of these things. At something a little more exciting that last spring’s library fiasco!
October 7, 2013 at 8:29 pm
I wrote a post a while back called, “Living Within My Own Skin.” As with most of my followers who responded to that post, you have the mentality of someone who loves to write.
October 9, 2013 at 11:39 am
It does take a certain mentality, doesn’t it Richard. I’ll check out the words of my fellow writer.