I have learned so much throughout this process. From the writing, and the even the not writing. (and from writing other things along the way) From two years of SCBWI membership. From 7 ½ years working in a public library. From many wonderful authors, their books and blogs, twitter and facebook pages. I am very grateful and indebted to so many people that I have never met. The internet is a hell of a thing.
In all of this fear and self doubt, I still have hope. It is hope and faith that have gotten me up this morning, but fear and doubt that have me writing a blog post rather than delving into my manuscript. Oh yes, I am a terrific procrastinator. Terrific. It may be my greatest talent.
Re-establishing my pattern is the goal of this week. We have been through every virus out there, helping to keep me in bed when I should be doing other things, like writing. Enough sickness. Enough procrastinating. Enough fear and doubt. I will never know if I don’t just do it. I have been over and over the process. My mind is ready to send first pages and a query letter off to the aforementioned agent, but my manuscript is not…..yet. More work. More hours sitting in the quiet early morning hours with this old laptop in my lap typing and retyping scenes.
I can do this. I believe that writing is my “personal legend” and it is high time that I take the horse by the bit and make it do what I want. We’ve wandered aimlessly long enough.
The urge to be somewhere warm is strong this winter. I do enjoy the snow we’ve had, but am ready for spring…..or, you know, Hawaii.
A bit of background; I first listened to Harry Potter (books 1-5) with my father-in-law. He was ill and listening to the books over and over gave him comfort. My sister-in-law and I took turns sitting with and caring for him while my Mother-in-law worked, so I would hear a good portion of one book, come back and he would be on an entirely different book. I had seen the first two movies (all that were out at the time) but had not yet read the books. (My daughter had read the first four.) We would talk, when we weren’t just listening and dozing, about many things, but he loved to share his ideas about where the series was headed. He and his daughter disagreed about one or two points (he knew Harry and Ginny would end up together, she thought it would be Hermione), and though he didn’t live to see that he was right, I relished the facts for him. For me Harry’s story is forever intertwined with the mingled joy and sadness of those days spent with my father-in-law, a man for whom life ended far too soon. For him, I re-listened to the books, in order this time, after he passed. For him I voraciously read book 6 when it was released, I reveled in the fact that he was right about Ginny. I sobbed when Dumbledore died. Book seven was for me. I had come to care deeply about these characters and their fictional lives.
I re-lived all of the joys and sadness as my son and I read the series together over the course of many bedtimes. I wanted to stop after book 5 and let him read the last two when he was a bit older, but he talked me into reading them. We would stop and cry at the appropriate moments. Laughter was infectious when he found the humour. Lengthy discussions took place long after he should have been asleep some nights. So now it became a connection between my son and I. This, as well as the joy of a well told, well crafted story is why I love the Harry Potter series. I would love the opportunity to someday tell Ms. Rowling how much she brought into our lives. (As a writer, I would also love to talk with her and ask her many questions.)
I don’t know if I was going anywhere with that…..