So I have 2 new clients (3 really, but I’ve been pro bono with one for years, so this is no surprise), and both are writers.  Finally today I caved and told one I was a writer too.  I guess I phrased it wrong because she wrote back:

“you gave up writing because you found someting you like better.”  OUCH!  OK, now we are back to the 2 chairs theory.

The thing is, how come all the really successful people in the world do EVERYTHING they like?  And yes, I like designing, and web maintenance is actually MUCH better than design as a steady career, but writing is like…it’s like the blood in my veins, something I was born with that won’t go away.

At the risk of sounding cruel to my Down syndrome daughter, being a writer is a CONDITION.  It’s not something you can change, it’s not something you choose, it just is.  That’s how it is WITH ME.

About a million years ago, I wanted to be a singer.  I sang a lot as a kid, but I was too scared to join anything.  In high school, I joined the glee club and a band, and a week later my voice just CHANGED.  I spent the next 5 - 10 years with allergies that prevented singing.  When I was around 25, I decided to take singing lessons. This was something I wanted, but I have a bent ear canal and basically I’m tone deaf ANYWAY.

I still get a pang over singing from time to time, because really I SUCK and I could be good with daily practice of 1-2 hours and enough years.  Yea, ok.  So when I hear singers say that you need to be born with talent, it might be annoying but what they mean is that you have this gift that is more natural (than say like for me).  Not that they don’t need to practice, but it’s just inherent with them.

It’s the same with me for writing.  It’s just there.  And yea, I’ve written some sucky stuff (my blogs for example, lol).  But I practice.

And I think when you feel this way, it is your divine calling and you can’t run or hide from it.  Ideally, it would be your career but we can’t all be that lucky.

I fell off of writing because life got in the way.  Two new clients, on top of my last new one, for starters, and 2 contests - one I want to enter, one I gave one entry and want to enter another.  THREE new full time job prospects, so life IS HOPPING.

But HERE’S where it gets interesting.  Two new clients?  Writers.  One with a writer’s site.  Closest job prospect(15 minutes away) ?  Co-owner is a writer (and mom of two), that is Fiction Writer. Hm…

Life is going in a strange AND good direction, even though I haven’t got enough $$ to pay both my mortgages.  I imagine God is having a good laugh at my expense.

WIP UPDATE:   Took the dive -am doing late-in-story rewrite.  Two key scenes were entirely too medieval UNTIL I turned them into torture-for-information scenes.  VERY today, I’m sad to report.

And I have another novel idea.  Need to remember and jot it down…

Life is good.

You know, I always write fictional characters, and so some creative non-fic on my blog.  And I am working on a concept that is much closer to home, about my mom who is dying of Alzheimer’s.

I realized that I have a truer story to tell.  I started to go through it last night, something related to my daughter and motherhood.

But where do we draw the line when fictionalizing reality?  For example, in the Alzheimer’s story I’ve already hit a bump.  My sis is the primary caretaker but I didn’t want to put her in the story because our relationship was nearly destroyed by this.  And I don’t want to risk insulting her.  Or, will she be insulted if I DON’T put her in the book?

Have to explore what it does mean to do this in reality.  At some point, of course, the character takes over and things change but I’m curious about what people think about this.

Well, I mulled it over and consulted my new online writing group.  Instead of forging ahead and THEN going back and rewriting the scene, I completely thought out the new changes.  Turns out it leads directly to the desired ending very well, better than before, so I probably won’t even really peak at the old pages.

OK, that’s a lie because I’m sure I could use some of it. SIGH.

If you know me, you know I don’t believe in coincidence.  So, the mail that came the other day that I only opened today was a 1 year subscription to Poets & Writers for only $9.95.  I was JUST THINKING of subscribing again, can you say perfect?

Then I got a post about a virtual conference being held Thursday through Sunday on publishing and writing your book.   Now all I have to do is dig up $27 in 2 days…lolololol…  If it’s meant to be it’ll come in, right?

I’m stumped on my novel because of all those changes I discussed last time.  Not sure whether to plow ahead editing to the end or rewrite now.  Augh!

Finally, I just landed a gig that will get me EXPOSURE.  It’s on parenting, but all exposure is good exposure, right?  Moms read fantasy, right?  Wish me luck.

Yea, so I’m 15 pages from the end of editing, when I’m lying bed tonight realizing that something I wrote - 2 critical scenes actually - are shit.  They are medieval in the middle of a plot that’s decidedly NOT.  So I kept mulling it over and over in the shower, and I came up with how to change the scene that makes the rush toward climax almost easy.  At least easier than it is now.

It’s a good way to dispatch a character who needed to be killed, which leads to the death of another, and finally an ultimatum between Do my bidding happily or under duress.   (That’s poor writing I know, but I’ll leave the good writing for my story.)

Still thinking about restructuring the last 30 pages is killing me right now…Arg…

I’m hysterical crying here. I can’t believe the separation scene of my stupid fantasy story could be so painful.

32 more pages to edit. It can’t get any worse, this is the worst scene.

Just needed a break to stop crying so hard, it’s damn hard to write WELL when you’re weeping, but it’s nothing new.

UPDATE: The next few scenes were brutal enough to dry up any tears.  And, oh yea, TWENTY PAGES LEFT TO EDIT, BABY!!

So I’m editing tonight, had to force myself too, and I came to the part of the book where something tragic happens…

And even though I made this decision years ago, wrote in NANOWRIMO in 2003, and have lived with it ever since, the writing … well, I damn near cried.  CAN YOU BELIEVE IT?

This is my one true path, I know it now.  I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the business I haven’t been able to build lately or how to make writing my business or how to get unstuck out of 2 chairs instead of one, but I know this now.

And it feels DAMN good.  This is the purpose God put me here for.

Amen to that!

OK, so as of now, I have exactly 50 pages to edit in my novel.  If I 10 per night, I can have it done in 5 days.  Let’s make it more reasonable, OK, how about 7 per night, that gives me one week to completion.  Cool!

Meanwhile, today I tossed out at a least a dozen books of morning pages and childish poetry.  Found some decent stuff and kept it: a handful of typed up poems, some notebooks with novel and short story concepts, some inspirational quotes, and a blank pad (woohoo! the writer loves finding paper).  I also came across some very high praise about one of my poems.  (Look for the one called “Slipping“.)

I forgot to mention that within 2 days of last week, I got this line: “pursue your degree” as advice in TWO different books I’m reading, one spiritual, the other about writing.  I don’t believe in coincidences, so I took this as a sign.

In addition, I found out that the closest college to me has a nighttime English degree program, BUT what’s really great is that they have creative writing classes AND something called “novel IS” or something that is a one on one.   Which leads me to believe it’s capstone novel writing seminar (I hope).  Most of the creative writing courses are at night, which is good because the tuition is half the price of the same class in the day (also think of childcare!).  So I’m psyched but I’m broke - no idea when this is going to happen because of money issue, but I have faith.  (Once again, anyway.)

Now I know I don’t NEED the degree, but it is a lifelong dream and I do need to write with accountability.  I hope this works out!

That’s all for now.

I was already in bed, but I started thinking and this came to me. Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t work on my other stuff tonight. What are your thoughts?

***

Sara sits in the car and waits, watches the leaves blow around her parents’ house.  She hates this. She wonders how long she can sit in the car before they’d notice, probably an hour or more, if they didn’t need to go near the window and actually pull the blinds.  She thinks about sitting for a few more minutes, but there is a day ahead of her and this process could take an hour or more.  The window to give the pills is closing.

She walks up the driveway, already relishing the 30 minute drive home.  She is 40, but her license is brand new and the one advantage of this weekly chore is that she has conquered her fear of driving and learned to relish the privacy of the car ride home, the absence of children and husband and work and life.  She’s turned into a fuddy duddy, blasting Christian music that she would have mocked when she was younger.

She rings the bell.  It takes a few minutes of her dad hollering, “Just a minute!” before the door is unlocked, unbolted, and unstuck.  She walks inside accessing the mess as she kisses him hello.

She is again overwhelmed by the clutter.  Growing up, her mom kept the house spotless, enlisting her children in cleaning their own rooms and polishing the furniture, but the spotlessness of the walls and floors was always a marvel to Sara, and a mystery once she had her own home.  There were always small piles of clothes, books, notebooks, necessities like keys and coins, but it was not her Dad’s clutter.  She suddenly realizes that her mother’s subtle aesthetics balanced Dad’s his practicality  Not so now.  Things are piled up in order of necessity.  Beds and couches before the TV, blankets piles all around them, food and dishes and silverware lining the kitchen counters instead of its closets and drawers.  Her mom would hate this, but even worse she’d hate the smell.

Her eyes search the room.  “How is she this morning?”

He looks left and right, as if he’s misplaced her mother.  “Well, you know.”  His meaning was clear.  Sara took her coat off, rolled up her sleeves, and walked to the kitchen.

“Hi Mom.”  She  leaned down to kiss her.

“Oh, you, you!”  Her mother gave a half smile and tried to reach up, but her arm was half stuck in her nightgown.

“I tried to dress her, but she didn’t want to get dressed,” Dad said, an angry smile on his lips.  He waves his hand.  “Ah! I give up.”

Her mother looks at him, tight lipped, her eyes narrowed to a point.  “You tried to undress me.  You want my money.”

“Hon, I only want to help you.  I love you.”

“Love? Love?  HA!  You want my money.”

“But Cat…”

Sara stops listening.  She hates this fight and she knows she’ll be pulled into it soon.

Her mom grabs her elbow, her hands are cold as ice.  “What do they want from me?  They want all my stuff.  They want…”  She waves her hand over her body.  “They want that.  And this.  And those.  And thee.”