I need to make a concerted effort to keep this blog updated. I am back at it again folks, though to be fair I have been writing consistently elsewhere.
It’s November again, and that means daylight savings time, a presidential election, and national novel writing month. I’m not in any position to start an entire new novel right now, but I do have a goal for the month. I want to complete thirty+ shorty stories this month!
I’m not sure how I’ll do, considering I’m working two jobs and already stretched pretty thin, but I’ll give it a “yanky try” as my mom would say… I’ll tell you more about my insane decision to get a second job in another post, but suffice to say it started as writing research.
I also have a goal to beat my friend in getting rejections. I have a long way to o go to catch up because she’s been working at this for longer. But, I am undeterred. I like the rejections because it’s proof of my efforts. (I will also love to receive an acceptance too!)
I’ve never had a dedicated place to sit and write. I usually sneak writing moments in where I can, mostly at work or at a library. When we moved in July, I finally had a room to call my own! Unfortunately, the move came with a host of complications, as moves have a tendency to do. My husband shattered his elbow in the process and required surgery to piece it back together. During his recovery he moved his computer into my room when he had to work from home, and unpacking has been slow. Add to that the fact my internet connection is nearly nonexsistent, and we’ve been saving money for home repairs and hospital bills, so I had to put my plans on hold.
After Christmas, my husband was able to move into the other office and I got to work painting. It turns out that I’m pretty terrible at painting, but I’ve been enjoying the exercise in self expression. I’m excited to complete the room and share the finished project, but for now, I can give you some detail shots! Can you guess the iconic address that I’m replicating?
I’ve hit the doldrums. I keep adjusting my sails to catch even the slightest whiff of inspiration, but it seems I can’t sail a ship on the strength of a sigh.
This has been a particularly trying winter. We are renting a beautiful little house in Soda Springs, Idaho (emphasis on little) and it seems I cannot escape the incessant bickering of my cabin-fevered children. They couldn’t go outside much and so just ricocheted off each other. They are 5 years apart in age and every once in a while their interests will align, like planets, and there will be peace and harmony ala the age of Aquarius. This was not that season. My oldest is 13 and has embraced this angsty calling with relish.
Anyway, add to it the fact that Soda Springs may be slowly rejecting me like an incompatible organ transplant, I’ve been in a bit of a creative slump.
People some times look at me and think “Oh she’s an optimist- she’s ok”. There is a misconception, I think, that optimists are a little vacant and that their sunny disposition is easily come by. Let me attest- it takes effort. It takes a conscious decision to change your mindset and we get sad too. When an optimist is sad it’s pretty easy to dismiss it- knowing we will “bounce back” soon. And you’d be correct- we will bounce back- but it still hurts to feel dismissed.
I am so thankful for my good friends that help me whenever I start to sink into the mires of anxiety.
I’m pushing through the rocky, frozen soil again. Looking forward to Storymakers and reconnecting with my muse this spring. 🙂
I absolutely love my birthday. LOVE it. Â Each year I look forward to the date in February with the giddy anticipation of a child. I know this sometimes puts me on the other end of ridicule, but I can’t help myself. For me, the day has always been a burst of pure sunshine in the darkest part of midwinter, and it usually means we are rounding the bend into spring. I walk around all day with a goofy grin and invite random strangers to share in my celebration by telling them about it. I have no shame. I extort birthday wishes from as many people as humanly possible. I haven’t ever had to send myself flowers or balloons, but if I were in a situation where I spent the day alone I would totally do so.
I relish growing older. I love what each new year of experience brings and I recognize, (more every day) that growing old is a privilege that many people never get. I didn’t curl up and cry on my 30th birthday like so many I know, I leapt into my 30s cannonball style and have no regrets. (Incidentally so far my 30s are my favorite, I was in chronic pain, super poor and stressed out, sleep deprived and the mother of young sticky children in my 20s.) I have always looked at aging as leveling up and as I’m now in my later-mid-thirties, I’m pretty proud of my accomplishments so far!
But there is always that little part of me that thinks of all I haven’t accomplished yet. This self-doubt is like a wiggly tooth that I can’t leave alone. So ya- I have set goals that I haven’t met. I have made promises to myself each year that I systematically avoid keeping. I sometimes fear I’ve missed the opportunity to publish as a fresh young woman with energy and verve. Â I wonder if the price for my youth is experience, and if I got a good enough exchange rate.
In a moment of self-indulgence I looked up writers ages when they first published. This year is my year of Mark Twain- (had I tried this on my last birthday I would have had Jane Austen) So I’m not making any resolutions, but I think that if I share a late debut this year I do so in good company. Anyway, my goal is to not reach Emily Dickinson level. (in terms of publishing anyway, I would love to reach her level in talent)
Kelly Moore Writes 