Well, now, let’s start over. Yup, wrote a whole bunch of words and ended up hearing someone’s voice stating…so, what makes you any different from anyone else. We all struggle with time frames, family/friend demands, and life. And then there’s the voice of those working from home…yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.
Ever have someone tell you all your work was good for was as a toss in the trash bag. That it was crap. Senseless. Boring. Childish. And this was from someone who was being helpful.
Ever have someone tell you your work was brilliant, flowing, a painting of magical inspiring words which floated off the page and through their senses?
Yup, same piece; different critique member.
Ever have someone tell you…huh, like it. That’s when I learned not to have hubby read my stuff. Love him, but yeah, not the most helpful. Yup, same piece.
So what happened to that piece? It’s back in the computer folder gathering cyber dust bunnies. Decided to take up challenge and write a romance.
I don’t do romance. I don’t mix well with romance. My first published short story is a romance. Go figure.
Writing is fickle. It’s explosive. It’s dawdling. It’s confusing. It’s boring. It’s time consuming. It’s insanity.
It’s what I do.
Writing is dreaming. It’s play. It’s giving life to whimsy. It’s delving deep into the dark corners and scaring yourself. It’s talking with dragons, vampires, and becoming werewolves.
It’s who I am.
Our ideas are fleeting. They race around our heads and battle to reach our fingers and keyboards before, poof, they’re gone. One second call; one millisecond knock can be enough to lose them. That one teeny idea could have been the result of hours of muddling through words, edits, staring out the window, doodling, talking to characters living only within our minds. But now it’s gone.
The following piece was my very first published non-fiction. I was on the right side of an emotional break. Hubby held the door to this writing world open and told me to walk through. He wasn’t my mom, my dad, my grandmother, or grandfather, he was (is) my life partner. His future was (is) tied to mine and he held the door to my true self. From that moment to now…published author, editor, reviewer, blogger…and I still have days like the day I wrote this, back in 1999.
Credit: Christine I Speakman, May 1999, published in FUTURES Magazine.
Today I gave up a dream. I guess there are worse things I could do. Today I said goodbye. Goodbye to part of me, perhaps it was to my soul or just to the truth in me. Today I conform. Today I push and tug my way into society's suit. Today I follow, instead of forging through on my own.
I am lost in this suit. I flounder my way through the day in every direction. Today I don't know who I am. Today I am sad and afraid.
Yesterday I flew. I was free. I was lost but knew where I was. My world was full of colour and laughter. There was fear and the strength to overcome. Yesterday I gave birth to worlds no one had ever known existed. Yesterday I was alive.
Can you see? Do you understand? Do I. There inside me is the truth of who I am. I dream of worlds never seen. I see inside the hearts of others, of you. I see the whys of our actions. I have no answers to give. All I have to give are words. They are my gift to you.
Today I dream. Today I do the best I was meant to do. Today I open my soul up to the world. Today I am true to myself.
I am a writer.
Christine Irene Steeves - Writer