Yeah, yeah. Don’t wanna hear it.
I ran into the news editor of the local paper (for which I write a column and occasionally freelance) today. She’s half-Filipina and apparently a reader of this blog, and so of course she asked me about updates.
Errr…. Busted. (Thanks, Tracy!)
I can’t even remember when I started the job at the library (sometime in late January or early February…?), but I do know that I haven’t written in my blog since I did. I was flattered that she even remembered I’m writing a novel, which was a nice affirmation that someone cares that I write. Too often — and you can ask any writer about this, and they’ll agree with me — the only person who really cares that you write is you.
And why should it be any different? Why should anyone care one writes? Isn’t half the population in the United States in the painful throes of writing something, anything (their memoirs, their Great American Novel, a poem, a letter, a memo), at any given moment in time? Why should you be any more special?
As it was, I ended up not writing my column for weeks, not too long after I became a regular staff member at the library in early March. The schedule took a while to get used to, as I’d quickly gotten accustomed to the delicious freedom of writing all day and hanging around with the hubby at night. Big surprise when I re-entered the full-time workforce. Has it always been this bloody tiring? The column was the first to suffer.
Imagine my surprise when I occasionally ran into people at the library whom I’d never met before and who, upon realizing that I was that Minority Report (the name of my column) girl, would ask me when my next one would come out.
Wow! I mean, we’re talking maybe half a dozen people or so, but nonetheless I was floored that anyone really paid that much attention. I’d gotten so used to hearing only bad things about what I write that I’d forgotten that, in most cases, if someone enjoys what you write, chances are you won’t hear from them.
So I’ve come back, albeit perhaps a little less often. I told the editor that it may likely be a biweekly submission on my part, or at least until my schedule stabilizes. I also try to freelance for them, and I’ve also gotten involved with the local Crohn’s and Colitis Foundation of America chapter (Denver), so for now my schedule is a little packed. It’s not something I’m proud of — I hate when people moan about how busy they are, and yet the trace of pride and arrogance in their voice is unmistakable — but for now it’s what I have to work with. I’m thirty-five years old, and as I get older I’m only realizing just how much more work I want to do before I keel over and merge with the worms.
Oh, and of course, there’s the novel. And I need to dust off that play and finish it. Damn it, I wrote the first scene in less than a week. Surely I can finish the second — and final — scene in less than a month, even with all the other things I have going on.
Thanks to Tracy, I’m a little more inspired to write in my blog as well. If nothing else, I love the writing exercise. Sometimes I forget that, no matter what else is going on in my life, when push comes to shove, my writing is my life.