Writing Begets Writing?

So after posting on Wednesday, my mind started swirling with words. Not just ideas but actual words.

It reminded me of how when we have struggled financially it felt like there was no end in sight but then once we paid off our debts and got our footing again, random checks would start to show up. One year it was back pay from the school I had taught at the year before that had finally negotiated a new teacher contract. I hadn't known we had been working without a contract but I did enjoy the retroactive pay raise. Another year it was an unexpected bonus. This year, as we are settling into life in Wisconsin, my husband is actually getting some profits from his company in California. We always worry when things are tight and then are reminded once again of that old adage that money begets money. It doesn't seem fair but it is what it is.

Maybe like money, writing begets writing.

I wrote. I put my butt in the chair as Anne Lamott teaches and wrote words down. And then more words showed up.

Blog posts pile up in my mind. Though more ideas will be dumped because I don't really have the desire to be confrontational though I have so many thoughts on the current debates I see on Facebook and Twitter. I'll save those for face to face conversations. I do still have some stories to tell. And I found again that sitting down, opening the file, and typing often causes the words to show up.

Also, my characters started talking in my head again. Not in a weird, schizophrenic, I hear voices way but more in a I am creating, I am caring about them and their story again. Mind you this may not be good for my husband since the two are fighting right now. But at least they are talking. Also, when I really do get going, I lose track of all those things that need to happen, like milk buying and laundry and that pesky dinner thing that I hate so much.

I still have a lot of questions... fear... obstacles ahead of me.

But at least I am writing through them.

One blog post at a time.

One scene at a time.

What is keeping you from moving forward in your dream?

Maybe Writing Isn't For Me

I'm supposed to be writing today. My kids are back in school so I am supposed to be back to work writing. Except I don't feel like a writer any more.

I thought about going back to teaching instead of writing. Not necessarily because I want to teach, though I did love it at the time, but because it seemed easier than working at this writing/trying to get published thing. Turns out the state of Wisconsin takes their teacher licensing even more seriously than their proof of residency requirements which don't even get me started on my two trips to the DMV to prove that I am who I say I am and that I live here. All that to say my fall back plan may be even more work than writing...

So back to plan A.

I actually have some ideas. Book ideas. Essay ideas (ok really just blog posts).

I am starting to think about the book I have written and how I can improve it. I am thinking of new characters and new ideas.

But writing...

Not so much.

Heck, I am only writing this all down now so that I can be done for the day and go back to reading and lurking on Twitter guilt free. And to avoid the grocery store which I was planning on doing to avoid writing.

Turns out I will do anything to avoid the grocery store. Which gets back to part of why I need to get better at being a real, hopefully professional, writer. I hate to cook and eating out gets expensive and hard to justify if all I did today was watch Gilmore Girls and play Candy Crush.

I don't know why it is so hard to write. Except I do.

It is hard work. Sometimes the ideas flow really quickly. Sometimes stream of consciousness writing works. But sometimes, often, the words don't come. At least the good words, the well written, descriptive turns of phrases hide from me. I know they are out there. I read good books all the time. But I can't find the words. Or I don't like the words I have found.

Or even worse, I love the words, I love the story, but the agent rejects it. My writing has proven to not be good enough.

Can I make it better? Probably. Can I keep working at this thing and somehow find my voice and find the craft? I dream I can.

But to do that I have to walk through the muck of rejection and disappointment and sitting down and having no words. I have to open up my Scrivener file and start somewhere and work slowly through the words, 80,000 words I have written, and edit and rewrite and reimagine and ponder word choice and content and voice.

I have to face the rejection and the knowing in my head that I am not good enough and work to become better.

Perseverance is not my strength. Not yet anyway.

But what choice to I have.

The state of Wisconsin wants me to pass a history test and take classes if I want to teach here. And then I would have to wake up earlier than I like, put on real clothes, and go to a job every single day. I love history. I love teenagers. But honestly, writing seems easier than that.

I am hopeful that is not because I am lazy but because I actually fell in love with writing.

And the life of a writer (with a husband who pays the bills).

The Long and Busy Months

So it's been a while since I've been here. At this blog, not the internet or on my computer. I have spent plenty of time googling in the last few months.

It has been a busy and long few months since I last wrote. Long as we waited for answers. Waiting to find out what job my husband would finally find. Waiting to find out if the one that was far from our home was going to be the one. Waiting for that offer to be finalized.

I am not a fan of waiting. I like to plan. I like to know what is going to happen and I like to know all the things that can possibly happen. I don't like surprises. And yet, I found myself this year waiting. Waiting longer than I like, long enough to panic at times, to get discouraged. But then the answer came. An answer that should have been scary but after all the waiting it was nice to finally know.

And then the busy happened. The googling schools, hockey rinks, churches, Starbucks, homes in our new state of Wisconsin. The busy home searching trip with ten houses in one day, five the next, offers on two different houses and coming to agreement on one of those. Busy getting our condo ready to sell, having to leave at all times of the day so it could be shown, waiting for offers that never came and then debating the three offers we got in three days. Busy signing documents, packing the stuff we would need for the month we are in temporary housing which included two sets of hockey gear as well as our clothes, electronic equipment and enough books to keep Hockey Boy busy until we could get a library card. Busy saying goodbye.

That was the hardest part. The goodbyes.

I don't like goodbyes.

Goodbyes suck as Hockey Boy stated so eloquently and in this case appropriately. And so I refused to say goodbye. I went about the last weeks trying to pretend that nothing was changing, as if it was not our last time at our school, our church, the rink, the Sweet Shop, Starbucks.....

I tried to do that with my friends but that was a lot harder. The hugs were longer and tighter. The smiles forced. The see you laters catching in my throat as I knew it would be too long before I would see my friends again. The emptiness settling in as I would drive away from each last time.

I was doing okay though. I have had a lot of practice saying goodbye. But then I watched my son say goodbye to his friends on their last times. Each time, the boys would be full of smiles and laughter as they played but then the moment would come when we had to leave, when the goodbyes became real and as we walked away each time my oldest would lean into me and cry. And then I would cry.

I hugged him close to me, my head now can rest right on top of his and I cried with him. And then I reminded us both that the fact that it hurt so much to say goodbye meant that we had great friends that we loved very much. And I think we both felt a little better. Or at least I did, knowing that my son has such amazing friendships.

It has been a week and a half since we left California. It feels like forever ago now. I keep waiting for the moment when we pack up after our vacation and return home. I wonder if that feeling will go away when we actually get to move into our new home on August 1st. This temporary housing thing is not easy, though our practice of close quarters living in the last year has certainly helped.

That's where I am.

We have answers now. Life has slowed down again.

And I wrote something today.

So there's that.

Not Writing

I did not blog for an entire month. I did not write much offline either. And not because there wasn't anything happening in our lives.

March included not only my middle son's birthday and my husband and my 16th wedding anniversary but it also held Easter and a Tuesday morning spent teaching about communion at my church's mom's group. It was a month of figuring out how to live without a pay check, considering different job opportunities including some far away from where we live now. March was also full of reminders of how blessed we are, we have a beautiful home, amazingly generous friends, a great community, and savings enough to not panic. It was a month of such amazing growth for my eldest son, my hockey boy who branched out and tried some new and scary things and lived.

But I did not write about any of it.

I couldn't.

Or I wouldn't.

I'm not really sure. All I know is that the West Wing needed to be watched during the day when the boys were at school. That all my energy was spent on keeping their days as normal as possible. My husband and I faced panic and possibility and fear and provision when the boys were not looking or we tried to as much as possible. Though I am sure our stress leaked out. That is what stress does. It leaks into all the gaps, over every part of our lives, dimming the lights on the joys and weighing down the heavy even more. 

I watched my mom be depressed when I was a child. I saw it again as an adult when circumstances shocked her world. When meds didn't work any more or life became too much.

And now I worry about what my boys see. When I sleep later in the mornings and have a hard time facing the day. When I lose my will and let them play video games for far too long because I am lost in my own addictive game. When I am short with them, my patience thin not because of them but because stress does that too.

I am thankful though that for the most part, we do believe that things will be okay. That we trust that God has a plan, even if it is not what we had in mind. He has been ever faithful in our lives. There is no reason to doubt.

And yet...

Sometimes I get angry. At God. Why now? Why us? 

I feel like Job finally asking God why. Why him? Why his family?

And then I remember God's response to Job at the beginning of chapter 38:

“Who is this that obscures my plans
    with words without knowledge?
Brace yourself like a man;
    I will question you,
    and you shall answer me.
“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
    Tell me, if you understand.
Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!
    Who stretched a measuring line across it?
On what were its footings set,
    or who laid its cornerstone—
while the morning stars sang together
    and all the angels shouted for joy?"

And it keeps going for a couple of chapters.

I get it. But I am not always happy about it.

But I think that's okay.

I hope.