Resisting My Urges

May 10, 2010 at 10:12 pm (writing)

Tom and Nia

It’s not going to happen. As much as I want to focus on my editing and set aside the writing, I just can’t do it. It would be simple if the voices in my head could remain silent, and I could focus on what needs to be finished and refined, but my world always tends to be a little more complex than that.

It wasn’t always like this. Writing used to be a chore for me – a constant struggle to get the pictures out of my head and onto paper. I wanted to do it, but the words fought with me on a daily basis. I got involved in an Amateur Press Association that forced me to stick to a deadline, and at least I began to produce on a monthly basis. It was not a joy then, but a chore. It was still one, however, that I was driven to tackle on a semi-regular basis.

Real life stepped in, and I found myself trapped underneath the heavy burdens of school, family and full-time job. I gave up all of my hobbies for about three years. All of them. My life turned into a dry, tasteless drudgery of work, work, work.

When I finished school it took time to restore my soul. There were other complications. We bought a larger house and struggled to sell the smaller one. Finances were strained and with my son’s diagnosis of ASD, I felt like some one had tossed me into the pit of doom and thrown away the key. Things seemed pretty grim.

That was when something even more horrible happened. I wonder if it was life’s way of slapping me in the face and yelling: “Wake up!” My husband’s best friend, and a dear friend of mine, committed suicide.

My reaction was the opposite of what I would have expected. Things that were grey suddenly were restored to colour. I was alive and needed to revel in that life. I also wanted to grab on to something that had connected me to my departed friend and let me hold on to him that much longer.

He was a beautiful man, loved by many, who succumbed to mental illness. He had been one of the few living people who had left such an impression on me that he inspired a tragic character in my writings – a character whose story I had left unfinished while my friend was still alive. I had to finish that story. I had to. The problem was, there were two other books that I had to finish before I could get to the end of his tale.

I brought out the old manuscript, the first one, and started going over it, hoping to find renewed motivation. That was when I discovered that I was working with a living, breathing muse. I am blessed. I have always been blessed, even if I haven’t always been aware of it. She encouraged me to finish the second manuscript, and then the third. By the time I got to the manuscript that finished the inspired character’s tale, I was running on my own steam. And now, I can’t stop.

I wish that I could have found my passion, my drive, in a more pleasant manner, but now that it is here, you won’t hear me complain. – Okay, I may grumble a little about being obsessed, but in truth, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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2 Comments

  1. jasi said,

    I think it’s amazing that you’ve transformed grief into creativity. And, what a muse engine you have there, lady! I am equal parts envious and exhausted.

    Keep writing!

    Edits are a drag, put them off as long as possible.
    jasi

  2. Barbara said,

    YOU are.. MY hero!

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