{scraps of things from the pocket of an old coat}

Monday, June 27, 2011


i set this place aside for a while.  perhaps not consciously at first, but then it went under a dust sheet and i quietly imagined it didn't exist.

which is how it's been for me and my words this last few months. something about this space was connected to my writing.....it felt like the place where it belonged. i'd like it to be somewhere quiet that i can come and let the thoughts drift out of my fingertips.

beautiful adie tells it well...this push-pull for those of us who can write....who are drawn to write...who, by whatever means, must write; and how it's not altogether voluntary and not always invited.  there are more people who don't understand this than those who do.

i sometimes get anxious about not writing. i berate myself for 'wasting' this ability -- for squandering what i've been given. i get caught up in the 'ought-to'.  i didn't always feel this way. there was a time when i wrote because i had a story to tell.

i think the worst thing i ever did was take a creative writing class. truly, it ruined me.

i've written a novel. it's written for the tween/YA market {i've a whole other post about these arbitrary categories and the bollocks that is traditional publishing}. it's well-written, follows all the rules, has a good story and some interesting characters. by all accounts, after a few trips around the appropriate circles, i imagine it would likely be published.

and yet there it sits. waiting. one rejection down and me not arsed to send it out again. {which has nothing at all to do with the rejection, that doesn't bother me at all}

what i really want to do is write stories without ever intending them to be formally published. i would like to reclaim the freedom of that. if i could, i'd step into my way-back machine and never take that first class. i would have found something else to do in the evenings while i was gestating Savannah. because i think that the stories of my heart aren't necessarily the kind that most editors would want to invest in. oddly, this pleases me.

i get tired of hearing myself bemoan this point though -- i've gone up and down and around the issue so many times i'm sick of myself. 

so i've decided just to get on with it.

some of it might turn up here. most of it probably won't.  either way, it's a step in the right direction.

thank you, adie -- and you, tibbie...for reminding me of the magic.


adie said...

I am so pleased to read this. You know, I understand exactly what you mean. I keep trying to write My Novel For Publication, but it is like gathering stones from a rich mossy field, rather than planting something. I do still want you to send out your novel to publishers - its just stamps on an envelope, after all. A thing that your hands do in the post office, yes? But your heart - let your heart sing where ever it will. I'll be listening for it.

Blessings to you.

Rose said...

I imagine the stories of your heart to be like your paintings - bright, fun, simplistic looking in that way that hides huge depths but manages to make those depths accessible... and full of spirit and magic.

I see you as an author like CdL, writing short stories with beautiful illustrations in their own books and the occasional longer book to keep the coffers full. Write your soul, I believe the stories that rest their want to sing out to the world!

mel said...

oh -- you two are my most beloved supporters. truly. during the times when i'm really low -- i hold onto the things you've said and they keep my lips above the waterline...

yes, adie -- something to do at the post office. i shall remember that.

Rose -- thank you...from the depths of my heart. i would love to be like CdL....