One Lonely Job
I wouldn't be honest if I said I thought writing was a job for those who loved to be around people. Or for those who wanted constant understanding and support. Just let me write something that brings a flood of tears and my husband will say "Oh yeah that's good." in an unenthusiastic voice and walk away.
I still have a sopping wet Kleenex in my hand, and a snarl in my heart for my other half-the insensitive part of me, evidently. I feel let down, and the "I just know this is the one story that will sell" feeling drops to my feet along with my burst of hope.
My one true fan of my writing , my mom, passed away recently, and along with her passing- went my flow of words. They dried up quicker than a woman's skin once menopause rears it's ugly head, and sets in for good. I've tried to force the issue, with this dead part of me, but it's snuggled in like a tick on my scalp. That persistent, that pervasive, and I fear that the tweezers won't tear that part of me, that I don't want, that quiet part, the uninspired part away.
I took a couple of writing courses a few years back, and the words seemed to flow then. How well they were flowing, well I guess that depends on how well they were paying the teacher that was instructing me. If she was making minimum wage then I probably got all the attention a politician gets during election time. A little scribble in the margins and then she sent me on my way.
So I sit here at my lonely laptop at five something in the morning and think about my life, about my writing. Will it be good enough for anyone? Will I put a spark of something in the minds of the readers that look at these prose? Is someone picking up a cup of coffee in their own minds maybe as they look at this? Someone-maybe those who prefer the typewriter for the written word-visualizing a piece of paper going through the air just to miss their trashcan again? Did someone remember blowing their nose as their character closes their eyes one final time?
Well if I bring someone, some strong emotion, with something I write, then I will happily settle for that. If it inspired someone to write, to cry about Aunt Bessie, if it made someone want to break out their own laptop and give it the old college try again- then I've done something right.
So is writing for the lonely, -those not happy to work alone-is it for those that want constant praise, acknowledgment for a job well done? No, probably not. Is it for yourself, is it a creative process that will make you happy just for the love of writing? For the joy of creating a character-for breathing life into words that were before only black letters against a white background? Yes I think so. Write because you love to, because your not happy if you don't use your creativity. Let that be enough. If it's sells then that's wonderful. If someone needs to use a hanky to dry away the tears that your story inspired-Bravo!
