Not The Best Post, But A Journey For Me

I’d like to take things back a day and tackle yesterday’s NaBloPoMo prompt: “What is the hardest part of a big project: getting the energy to begin, finding the time to work on it, or feeling down that it’s over?”

I put this under my writing category because when it comes to a story–characters, plot, and setting–and you get it all out of your head, revise it to a fine polish, then maybe you’re done. It would be nice to know when your writing project is done. Clearly, for published works, it’s done once it is published (whether Writer likes it or not down the road, but he/she can print new editions). However, there are works that never get done.

We continue to play with old manuscripts thinking a new style, format, or presentation might increase odds for acceptance. After all, we’ve already put this much work into it, shouldn’t it pay-off at some point? How does one determine when a big project is over when it never reaches a level of success, finally accepts this one has no future?

I am at the mercy of my submissions, or I should say their results. Each day springs with hope in the morning–perhaps I’ll receive word today. Each evening closes up with a twinge of despair, the taking of sunlight like the taking of another dream. Waiting for word; will I ever receive word? I have created my own torture.

Writing is my passion, above all else … well, reading is a close, close second, more like an addiction because I consume words as opposed to creating them. Now, voluntarily having my income-making wings clipped as I stay home nurturing the life growing inside me, I have the time to write. So why am I not writing? Because, until I can justify its productivity, it is an indulgence I oblige myself to deny. (However, thank you NaBloPoMo for encouraging some purpose for my writing drive.) I am not one to sit in a hot tub all day, eating chocolates, and listening to whatever appeals to me at the time, like music or Nature. For one, hot tubs are discouraged for pregnant women. Another, hot water and chocolates are income-takers. I am providing for my household in that I’m growing a family to fill its walls, I must remind myself. However, it is not enough, neither the laundry, the groceries, the dishes, and the cooking.

Patience, I am told, and I cannot disagree. Indeed, Moms, the world over, would say I’ll have all the workload I can handle in a couple of months time. I do not disagree that, either. I hope to find a solution to my present–but is it really there in the first place even as I describe it in words–obstacle in this exploratory writing post in which I am engaged. I had begun wanting to express that the hardest part, for me, of a big project is knowing when it’s over, when to move-on, but it is more than that, obviously. I’m having trouble finding good reason to write. I want to write fiction but cannot justify it. I’m not good at doing things for myself. I’d like to provide something for others.

It looks to be my answer for deciding when a project is over is deciding if it can be of benefit for others in the form of entertainment or sharing experiences. If it cannot, then it is done before finding success. If it can, then it is successful and I should be receiving word back. Stuck in the middle, the waiting, I must find something else to do as Time continues its verb state. Write what I want, contribute what I can, take care of myself and, in turn, the son-to-be inside … Life cycles (verb or noun, your pick, though I started with verb).


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