Purple Hearts

It’s official. I think the words have left me. I’ve been staring at the blank computer screen for five straight minutes trying to think of my opening line for this New Year’s writer’s resolutions blog. Now five minutes is not the black hole of time, but when your mind is empty and you’re a writer, (and you haven’t been writing for months) those precious three hundred seconds can feel like you’re trapped in space without oxygen.

This moment of frozen panic lead me to thinking about the beautiful email Jessica wrote last night in response to my quiet cry in the darkness…a tiny question hidden at the end of an irrelevant email…what if I never write again? Her response was perfect. She never allowed me to accept that I will NEVER write again, but gave me some avenues to pursue in my investigation of ‘why’ I’m not writing. And the one that stuck with me is her comment about having an inner three-year-old that stomps her feet, pouts and gives up. And having a real live three-year-old in my daily experience, I must admit there are some similarities to the standard tantrum and my recent behavior.

When I completed my last manuscript, I was so proud of it. I actually had a high concept plot (or what I think might be one), characters I wanted to have coffee with, some romance, some drama, even a conflict or two. I felt it was the best writing I had ever done. I let other people read it and got some great feedback and suggestions of areas needing work. Then I sent it out. And the rejections poured in and my heart sank. I started revisions and hated them. Every new word or chapter felt wrong so I stopped. And NaNo started and I struggled. Tremendously. So I threw myself on the floor, kicked my feet and screamed.

Okay, not really on that last part, but that is what I wanted to do. I admit I did pout, and I did growl a few suppressed primal screams. And I definitely whined (just read any blog in the last three months- hell reread this blog!). Therefore, summing it all up- I had an adulterized tantrum. And what happens to a whiny, tantrumming child? She goes in time out.

So here I am, still sitting in time out, literally facing the corner of the room (ironically that’s how my computer is set up). And I’m ready to get up. I want to. So I apologize to my creative process for forcing you into NaNo. It wasn’t the right outlet and did more harm than good. And I’m sorry, my sensitive soul, for rushing you into the world when you weren’t strong enough to deal with the rejections. The story needed polish and I shouldn’t have sent it out to agents when it wasn’t ready. And to my inner negativity, I need to put a leash on you and not let you roam free. Turn to the dark side again, I will not.

For 2008, I will follow my personal promise made last week. In my writing, I will remember that life is too short. I will write when I want to and how I want to. If the story is not working for me, I will find a new one. I will not waste my time and talent on something that weighs me down or does not excite me. I will write without thought of what others will think or how they will react. I will write in hopes of one day getting published, but not to get published. I will write for me.

-Meg