Rediscovering the Rush

I called my dad a couple days ago to ask him a serious question. You see, I’ve been starting savings-box-161876_1280to save money so I can go to the SCBWI conference in July. And the more money I put aside, the more guilty I became.

While writing the first draft of my first manuscript, I was impressively consistent. I had a toddler and an infant, but still I managed my goal of 700 words (I know Jack London said 1,000, but I figured 2 kids bought me at least a 300 word leeway). Sometimes the thought that my previous experience consisted of papers and short stories of no more than 10-15 pages became daunting, but the ever climbing word count was reassuring and I pushed on.

book-145399_1280As a newbie, I ran into other stumbling blocks as well. I remember the first time I had a critique partner read my work, say she thought it had tons of promise, and then hand me back a manuscript brimming with red marks. (…but I thought you said you liked it…? 😦 ) Still, there were more ups than downs. I discovered I enjoyed parts of the writing process I didn’t think I would (like editing, who knew?!) And I saw my accomplishments pile up: a completed first, second, 20th draft.

I started a blog (this one 😉 ), signed up to be a contributor and then editor for Albuquerque City Moms Blog, made plans to go back to school for my MFA once my children got a little older. I was confident I’d found the career I wanted to pursue the rest of my life.

And then I got pregnant, which for me meant hyperemesis gravidarum (or as I like to call it – the puke until you feel like you’re going to die disease). Writing stopped, but I told myself it was only temporary. In fact, I believe my last post said something to that affect. But even after I could move and eat without vomiting, even after our third son came and my energy level went up (slightly), even after he began to form a bit of a nap routine, I didn’t write. Not consistently anyway.

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Now, of course, I could come at you with all sorts of excuses. Legitimate ones even. I’ve got three boys 5 and under who, despite some progress, have yet to manage coordinating their schedules. I’ve got a baby who wakes me up several times a night. I’ve got family who is about 900 miles too far away to babysit or lend a hand. But none of those are the real reason I stopped writing.

I stopped because I got scared.

Which brings us back to the phone conversation with my dad.

My sister, who is amazing and extremely talented, has recently received both her desired chemistry internship and a journalism scholarship. I am super proud of her! Hearing about her exciting news brought me back to my college days. It’s not been that many years, but I feel like a completely different person. Back then, I thought I had everything figured out too. However, though I still enjoy music, I have absolutely no desire to utilize my music education degree anymore. (my kiddos are enough, I can’t handle being in charge of molding someone else’s too)

I have one manuscript, sure, but the second one has been at a stand-still for almost a year now. So I wondered: was writing my music ed degree all over again? And more importantly, am I good at it? Enough to make it my vocation?questions-1922476_1920

This is what I asked my dad. I wasn’t looking for false flattery or a boost for my ego. I was looking for honesty. And though he is my dad (and therefore bias), he’s also one of the best writers I know. So when I asked for the truth, I knew I would get it.

There is no twist to this part of the story. He did, in fact, as I’m sure you all suspected, tell me I was a very talented writer. And though he admitted this didn’t guarantee me a career, he assured me it wasn’t a waste of my time/money to try.

It was a nice conversation. But it’s not what inspired me to write this post, though it did motivate me towards what did.

The phone call ended with us deciding to exchange writing by the following week. So Saturday, though I still wasn’t convinced I had what it took, I sent my husband to the park with our children and I dutifully sat down to write.

A few hundred words in I found myself thinking, “God, I love this.”woman-1245817_1920

The rush. The high you get while creating a story. There’s nothing like it.

It’d been so long since I’d forced myself to sit down for any length of time and just write. I’d forgotten that feeling. I’d let doubt take its place.

But when I write, when I let it take over, the doubt dissolves.

So even if I never get published. Even if I’m not really any good. I’ll keep writing. Because I’ve rediscovered the rush.

And there’s no way letting that go.

Writing: A Dream Worth the Thud

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Dreams are amazing. They fuel our passions and send us flying. But then they get hard. They collide with reality. Gravity takes over. And falling hurts.

I want to be a writer. I want to be an author (published please!). And I know it takes work to get there. I knew that from the beginning. But knowing that what I’m going through is normal, isn’t all that helpful during the slumps.

It’s been several months since I sat down to seriously write. For a few of those I had a good excuse: my body tries to kill me when I’m pregnant. But thankfully, not for the full nine months. And so, almost six months in and able to eat food like a normal person, I should be trucking away. I’m not.

megaphone-911858_1920My inner critique is loud and obnoxious and incredibly unhelpful. My energy level is non-existent (yay pregnancy). And my inbox is full of old form rejection letters, because I haven’t been submitting enough to collect new ones.

One question keeps replaying in my head, “Why are you writing book two when no one is
interested in the first one?”

But here’s the thing, I do have an answer.

I love my story and my characters. I believe their journey deserves an ending, even (though this would be sad) if it never gets published. I just need to make sure these answers are bigger than the question.

To do this, my expectations have to change. I can’t get up at 5am anymore to write. Littlest guy won’t allow it. Nor am I truly functioning by the time we get crazy boys one and two sleeping. But there are other options. I can sneak away when hubby gets home and on the weekends. I can make time. And I should. I am happier when I am writing, making real progress.

And I can tell my inner critique to CHILL OUT. It’s different writing book two. I have a little bit too much information about how much work happens after you type the words, “The End.” But that’s not a good excuse. One of my writing buddies shared a quote by Shannon Hale a while ago that I loved:

 “I’m writing a first draft and reminding myself that I’m simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.”

Now, I just need to have this running through my head when I sit down to write…

And most importantly, I have to decide that the dreaming, the soaring, is worth the thud. Because it is. (Yet another life-lesson I learned from Ann of Green Gables 🙂 )angel-1008398_1280

I’m a Writer…There I said It

Several weeks ago my family and I attended a small group from our church. It was one of the first meetings so we went around the room and did introductions. Simple stuff. What’s your name? Where do you work? Questions I’ve answered a thousand times. But as they came to me, I found myself giving an answer I never have. At least not out loud and not to strangers.

“Hi, my name is Tacheny Perry and I’m a stay-at-home mom and a writer.”

 End of sentence. No caveat. No prefacing it with ‘aspiring.’ Just “I’m a writer.”

And saying it like that made my heart pound, as if when they heard the ‘unpublished’ part, they’d laugh or throw rotten fruit or something.

But I said it anyway, because that’s what I am. Being a published author may still be just a dream, but I’ve always been a writer.

I get up every morning at 5am and pour my soul into characters I’ve only book
met in my head. I laugh and cry with them, because to me they’re real. And yes, some day I want to go into a bookstore, walk over to a shelf, and find a book with my name on it. But even without that, I love sharing quiet mornings with my stories.

So here I am, irrational fear in check(mostly), introducing myself to yet another group of people:

I am a writer.

Welcome to my journey.

And please, no one throw virtual fruit at me 😉