Few people who know me fail to see my passion for the printed word.
It becomes painfully obvious to several people in my life, namely, my husband, my children and the clerks at the library desk that I love to read.
I also love to write. Writing to me is just another form of reading, a narcissistic one, to be sure. My lifelong commitment to my husband was clinched when I heard him say in answer to my complaint that he's not a 'word' guy, "That's why I need you." For me, it's all about the words. He charmed me with my own needs. I'll be the first to admit that writing gets less attention than reading because writing is plain work, whereas reading anything (and yes even the back of a shampoo bottle) is pure pleasure (read obsession here). But it's not for a lack of ideas. There are those spending ledgers of a compulsive budget-er that my mother-in-law sent me waiting to be made into a story. The two novels I've almost finished but not quite. The musical that needs scoring. The recipes with background stories I'm planning on giving my girls someday. My father's memoirs he entrusted my mother and I with publishing and that friend whose memoirs I'm committed to helping with. And the list goes on. I'm not going to divulge everything, just in case...
I realize that I often push down this need to write because, well, life is so insistent. My regular job as a piano teacher and accompanist is scheduled daily and whatever falls between the cracks must keep the household going, and that consists of cooking, and a moderate amount of cleaning.
Also there is that nagging voice that says. "You're too old to begin writing." I think just exposing this nasty little voice helps it to dissipate, doesn't it? I'm not really just starting. And anyway, every day I procrastinate only gives weight to this fear. And so, I won't.
I am soon to be an empty-nester. Although the usual grieving is following me around like a hungry cat, it occurred to me today (light bulb moment) that perhaps now is the time for my writing to blossom.
I'm committing to you, my dear blog readers that I am not giving up on my dream of being published. Thanks for being the first to get splashed with my ink. Someday, please remind me that you read me first:-)
It becomes painfully obvious to several people in my life, namely, my husband, my children and the clerks at the library desk that I love to read.
I also love to write. Writing to me is just another form of reading, a narcissistic one, to be sure. My lifelong commitment to my husband was clinched when I heard him say in answer to my complaint that he's not a 'word' guy, "That's why I need you." For me, it's all about the words. He charmed me with my own needs. I'll be the first to admit that writing gets less attention than reading because writing is plain work, whereas reading anything (and yes even the back of a shampoo bottle) is pure pleasure (read obsession here). But it's not for a lack of ideas. There are those spending ledgers of a compulsive budget-er that my mother-in-law sent me waiting to be made into a story. The two novels I've almost finished but not quite. The musical that needs scoring. The recipes with background stories I'm planning on giving my girls someday. My father's memoirs he entrusted my mother and I with publishing and that friend whose memoirs I'm committed to helping with. And the list goes on. I'm not going to divulge everything, just in case...
I realize that I often push down this need to write because, well, life is so insistent. My regular job as a piano teacher and accompanist is scheduled daily and whatever falls between the cracks must keep the household going, and that consists of cooking, and a moderate amount of cleaning.
Also there is that nagging voice that says. "You're too old to begin writing." I think just exposing this nasty little voice helps it to dissipate, doesn't it? I'm not really just starting. And anyway, every day I procrastinate only gives weight to this fear. And so, I won't.
I am soon to be an empty-nester. Although the usual grieving is following me around like a hungry cat, it occurred to me today (light bulb moment) that perhaps now is the time for my writing to blossom.
I'm committing to you, my dear blog readers that I am not giving up on my dream of being published. Thanks for being the first to get splashed with my ink. Someday, please remind me that you read me first:-)
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