There are days I feel completely bonkers. Days in which I feel as if I should be locked up in a room wearing a straight jacket and my family told, "There's just no hope for her." Those are usually the days I am dry creatively. I mean bone dry. Sahara Desert dry. They are the days I think that not one remotely interesting word will ever again flow from my heart and I should throw in the towel once and for all and forget about being a writer.
Well, that's how this past weekend started for me. Not a particularly positive way to head to a day-long writer's conference in which I would find out (after months of waiting) whether or not my contest winning entry would be requested by a "big" publishing house.
Preparations seemed futile as every time I tried to print my work my computer would glitch and spit out weird black boxes on the page, rather than words. So what did I do? I fell to the floor and started to sob. Wracking sobs in which my dearly beloved husband raced in to the room and wondered what could possibly be that bad.
"It's a waste of time. All of it," I responded between sobs which turned to a fit of hyperventilation. "I have no idea why I even try. None of it matters."
I know, a little melodramatic, even for me. I admit it, passion is my problem. As a wise friend continually tells me, my greatest strength is also my greatest weakness. And she's right. (Or, should I say WRITE?) As a writer, my passion has always made my writing more colorful. But in real life, that passion can get downright crazy. Even insane on a given day.
So I ran to the bathroom, cried it out of my system, blew my nose and returned to the room where my calm and mild mannered beloved reprinted my work. He said nothing. Not a peep. Didn't even ask what came over me. I guess he's used to it.
I've been writing a long time. It's been 18 years since I attended my very first writer's conference. "I should just give up." I've said this so many times I've lost count.
Once again, no response. My husband shakes his head as he always does. He knows I don't mean it. I can't stop. It's an addiction, a need I have deep in my soul. So, I will keep writing even if no one ever reads a word. Because I can't NOT write.
Oh, and the conference? Still waiting to see if the "big" house is going to call me up. But even if they don't I know I won't stop trying. EVER.