Posted by Lisa
It chose me - this writing thing. It came about because I have that same mix of talent and longing and perseverance that you do. I thank God I’ve had this challenge placed before me. Its cost can’t be measured in sweat or tears, hours at the library or time sitting in front of a keyboard. Its payback truly doesn’t depend on the dollar amount of my first advance. I am so willing to make my way along this route, no matter the weather, the terrain. I am thankful for this privilege.
At times, though, I know I carry a secret hidden in a front pocket of my jeans; I tuck a hand in to hold it tightly and make sure it doesn’t escape. I never deny that I’m a writer. I write. I have an agent in NYC. But I don’t advertise that I am a writer.
At events with other families, I rarely know many people. I’ve never, ever been good at parties; I wrestle knots in my stomach when others swirl ice in their glasses. My outgoing husband is usually at my side. Often, with women my age, I feel out of place. How many people want to discuss the perfect sentence and what makes it work just right.
Do writers succeed or do they survive this calling in life? It's not easy: at times I book to the bookstore cafe for a one hour writing session instead of getting to know other parents at my daughter's school. I choose time at the computer over a phone call with an old friend. Sometimes, I am hoping to get through the parts of life that aren’t writing and work and family.
I need to write. Could I suddenly decide to not breathe air?