I'm sure everyone has already ready this post by Myra McEntire, because I know every single one of you reads Janet Reid's posts on a daily basis.
Still, when something this good comes along, I feel a duty to share.
Writing is a solitary life . . . for the most part. For me, writing is when I withdraw deeply into myself and attempt - with little success more often than not - to push away the outside world and cavort in the depths of my very warped imagination.
But, as Myra so eloquently points out in her blog post . . . I'm also writing with my beloved partner, who worships the quicksand I walk upon, right by my side. Okay, he's not technically by my side, because every few minutes he'd ask what I was doing. I-R-R-I-T-A-T-I-N-G! So, while I write he's normally upstairs in his office playing hearts. His win ratio is at 35%. He was at 34% for the longest time and swore, absolutely swore, the game was rigged so his percent would never, ever, go up. I guess he was wrong about that! Ha!
So, while I might say the writer's life is solitary, I must admit that Frank is right along beside me as I chase this crazy dream of publication. He supports me silently, for the most part. That, for me, is enough.
He doesn't have to rub my shoulders, pat me on the head, say good job, or bring me coffee and/or wine as I'm typing furiously away and trying to ignore him, the dogs, the cat, and the outside world as I struggle with that one, all important scene that will make or break the brilliant book I am writing. He doesn't have to say hey, I'm right here with you . . . oh, and I'm hungry, when's dinner because I know he's right there with me, and dinner will be ready in a few (possibly hours, but normally minutes). Ha! I just know, without a doubt that he's there for me, no matter my moods, the looks I give him when he asks me a question at the most inappropriate time, or even if I blog about the fact that he wore white socks with dress pants and shoes when we went to the theater one time. Oh, the horrors, when he crossed his legs and exposed . . . his white socks. Feet on the floor, sweetie, thanks bunches! Yes, he puts up with such snarkiness, often on a daily basis, and yet he's still there for me.
But this post isn't necessarily about thanking him, though I do. This post - yeah, long way through the woods, huh? - is about all of us recognizing that we don't chase our dreams alone, no matter how solitary we imagine our lives at times when we're immersed in the writing process. We have lives outside of writing that often intrude - cue the cat hacking up a hairball - when we are at the most delicate and intense moments of the writing process.
We chase our dreams, racing, racing, always racing toward the finish line of publication, and we are not alone in that chase. We have husbands, wives, partners, boyfriends, girlfriends, parents, brothers, sisters, children, friends, dogs, cats, horses, and perhaps a Horton who hears a Who along with us, every step of the way, even when we push them aside - not now, in a minute, just a sec, one more sentence, paragraph, chapter, can somebody let the dog out?? do i have to do everything?? geesh, what do you expect of me? - in so many different ways.
As Robyn put it we can't be everything to everyone all the time or something to that effect. There are times when we just need to be Scott, Tess, Elana, Lady Glamis, Jody, Davin, Scott (the other one), Traci, Angie, Rebecca, Marybeth, Charlie, Robyn, and so many other people whose blogs I follow - the writer. There are times when we must have our selfish moments, our 5, 10, 15, 60 minutes of time just to write, to distance ourselves from life, and know that those people who are so important in our lives, who are right there with us every step of the way on this crazy writing adventure, will be there when we come back to the real world, a little bit dazed, our eyes a bit glassy, and our language a bit different then when we first entered the realms of our imaginations.
So, take time to read Myra's post, cry a bit at the end if you want - yes, the post is that good, and that emotional - and then go tell your whoever thanks!