There are days when being a writer is overwhelming. When life steps in and demands all our time, we resent very much being taken away from what we love. Creating a world that is ours alone until the time comes to share it with the world. And when we are stopped midway in that world by everyday mundane things, then it becomes too much.
A friend who is also a writer told me that a little dust never mattered, that writing is a big part of what I am, who I am. Then someone said the same thing on the Women Writing the West list serve and it reminded me that even when we create priorities, there’s no guarantee the time will be there to carry them through.
The end of January my husband fell and broke his hip and priorities all flew out the window, creating a big wind that blew away all my plans to finish the next book, to promote the latest one, to market the two that sit on a shelf waiting for a home. There are blogs to catch up on because I’m not posting often enough, there are all the online promotional and marketing tools to take advantage of. But most of all there’s hubby to visit every day, jobs to handle that he normally takes care of, the cat to feed, the wash to do.
And it’s on days like this I begin to wonder if it might be better to pack it all away and become the grandmother who bakes cookies and has empty hours in which to answer the call of family and friends. But I crave writing. When I leave my characters in an unfinished scene, I worry about what they might be doing. How will they go on with their lives without me? Do all writers feel this kinship with their creations? Probably. We’re all a little nuts. When I was growing up I truly thought I was nuts because I made up stories in which I lived and worked and played. Surely this wasn’t normal.
But lo and behold I began to meet writers when I gave in and started putting the stories on paper, and I learned they all did the same thing. So if you daydream, have imaginary friends or make up stories when you should be washing the dishes or scrubbing the floors. Whatever. Then, my friends, you are not crazy. You are a writer. Give up to it, so you can be as miserable as I when life steps on my writing time, yanks it away from me.
Excuse me, I must go check on the kitchen, make sure I’ve caught everything up for the day. And maybe then, I can step into my book and visit awhile with Livvy and Singer and Wolf Shadow, who live in a world that calls to me every day. A world of part fantasy, part reality and part pure delight.
Or check out the pages of the author’s copy of my latest book written by one of my other selves. See if the magic transported itself from my mind to the pages, and is waiting to be passed on to my readers.