Welcome back, my friend. Handsome Hansel joins us again at RU to tell us how he’s becoming a writer. Again.
Like a bad penny, here I am again. 😉
Gawd, have I missed you all. More than I believe any of you can imagine. Not simply because of your presence but because what everyone here represents…at least to me: a world of promise in our individual endeavors, a support system consistently in motion, and a wry, witty, self-deprecating personality shared by us all.
As most of you know, a couple of years ago, I was forced to bow out of the writing universe. I was on the cusp of publishing my first book at the time. Bowing out was a necessary evil then, one I wasn’t happy about but really didn’t have any options.
Fast forward twenty-six months and as my fingers pound out this post, my novel is staring at me from across the room. It’s pissed.
Library services should have been called for how I neglected my novel. I turned my back on it. Literally stuck it in a closet and didn’t feed it or nurture it in any way for almost two years. To make matters worse, I didn’t spawn any additional siblings to where I could make excuses for my lack of attention. I sucked as a literary parent.
Like an exhausted parent, I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to explain to it why it can’t go out and play. It began with small, semi-believable excuses: “I just don’t have the energy.”, “It’s been a long day.”, “Netflix just started streaming Gilmore Girls.”
You get the idea.
Recently, however, my first born novel has become more vocal. It required, (nay, demanded) more of my attention. I spent some time with it and realized I had a pretty good kid in my stead. There were a few things I had to teach it as it was rather impulsive in parts and slow to the point of whiny in others. We had a talk.
I’ve spent the last few months further whipping (not literally, that’s abusive) my initial offspring into shape. Of course there are editors, publishers, and general pundits out there who I’m sure will tell me if my child can make it out in the real world. As a rather naive first parent, I believe it can rule the world. And then some.
As the reasons I had to give up on my dream are irrelevant even to me anymore, the fact I should have never, ever stepped away from it, is crystal clear. I am a writer. Published or not. I am a writer.
A number of months ago I decided to forgive myself for what I’d tossed aside and devote my full attention again to what I love to do the most…ok, the second thing I love to do the most…writing.
As writers, we can’t deny who we are. We shouldn’t run from it, EVER. Or…more importantly, have it taken from us. We recognize each other. We GET each other. There are inside understandings between writers that non-writers will never get. And because they don’t, doesn’t mean we should stop being who we are.
We all have our various offspring we want nothing more than to see sprout wings and fly, leaving everyone out there in a state of awe. Do it. Don’t ever let your uncertainties hold you back. Your writing is a gift to people you haven’t ever met, nor may you.
You can do something others only wish they could do: emote through words, motivate through keyboard clicks, send another through time and space because you thought to.
I always wished I could play the guitar. I can’t. I tried and failed miserably. I should have known because I can’t pat my head and rub my tummy at the same time either. But I love watching a great guitarist. When that artist plays, they play for the masses. To fill a much needed void the audience needs.
So are we. A much needed outlet for the masses. What you have written, a large number of people out there need in their lives. Give it to them. Don’t doubt yourselves. Don’t ever give up on yourselves. You’ll be surprised by how many people need what and who you are.
Have you ever had a time you couldn’t write? How did you break free?
Join us on Monday for Rachael Thomas!
Bio: Like most of us, I’ve been around the block a time or two (or three) in the relationship world. I like to think of myself as having a pretty thick skin, however, that skin doesn’t surround the heart.
I’ve been in love; I’ve been in lust. I’ve been hurt and got up to do it all again, each time having learned more of myself as well as “wants” and “don’t wants” for my next relationship. Amazingly enough, I never gave up on that one true love wrapped in Romance.