Like this, except on the porch. I fell in love with the house for the porch. Once we put the porch swing and hammock up there, it was instantly the favorite room in the house. I’ve spent a lot of time on that porch: missing Josh when he was away on business or on call, snuggling the girlies, chatting with friends, watching the neighbors, reading, dreaming up ideas for novels, wishing my life was different, and loving it as it is. It’s what I used to dream about in California when we renting a tiny dark apartment. It’s funny now to look back on those dreams and think, well, I actually did all those same things in California. Why did I think I needed a home or a porch to make me feel whole-r somehow? For pity’s sake, I had the ocean for a front porch, yet I dreamed and wanted and needed a home desperately. I love our home. I will really miss it, but I’m learning that owning or fulfilling a dream doesn’t end desire.
I’ve been trying to settle myself and writing hopes with this same theory. I want to be a published YA author like I wanted to own a home. Probably more. It signifies success, talent, hard work, and many of the same American Dreams as home-owning. And to put it right out there, I’ve been struggling recently as I watch Josh begin to see the payoff and reward of all of his hard work in Med School. There are no guarantees in writing. No degree, guarantees of money, awards, good reviews, or even readership. I’ve been asking myself why I want this so bad, and what I hope to gain from it. Pretty simple really, I want the freedom to do what I love instead of what I have to do. But that’s not what this post is about. This post is about how that struggle I feel with wanting and needing a writing career will probably not feel much different if I get to the other side. I’ll want the next book, worry about following it up, how to market it, and whatever else. Just like my home. I’d love being published as much as I’d worry. So would I really be that different than I am now? Ocean and Porch. Published and not published. I’ve got to stop seeing ‘not published’ as bad. It’s just me in a different setting.
You also need to remember that you’ve already succeeded in writing the book. You finished it. Some people never even attempt to start, and many never continue to the end.
Thanks, Kristin. I’m going to miss you as much as I miss that porch.
The question is, will you stop writing if you never get published? If you’re anything like me, the answer is “No.” It’s something I have to do. Publishing is the ultimate dream, but writing is where the pleasure of the thing is.
Still, a beautiful metaphor. And now I feel wistful.
- Liz
Hi Liz, you’re so right about the writing being the pleasure of the thing. Of course I’ll keep going. There could be something out there that would stop me, but I haven’t found it yet.
Jody, great post. I’m learning that any day that lets me write, enjoy my family, and get some exercise is a good one. All the other stuff is just noise. Sometimes thrilling. But ultimately, the happiness is a lot closer to the bone.
Thanks, Martha. Hard to stay focused sometimes, huh? And kind of weird to have to work at happiness, or at least recognizing it. But it’s right there. Thanks for the comment.
Jodie, you know I so relate to how you’re feeling. I ask myself many days why I am doing this? But I’ve been thinking lately we should measure our success on finishing our novels, being proud of them, developing our online presence, the things we can control. Because I think you’re right. It may feel better on the other side for awhile, but there are always the worries whether we can keep selling books.
I see you as successful-you write well and finish your books fairly quickly, you’ve got a blog presence, you have an agent (without even querying), and you’re doing it all while working full time and now moving. You’re doing great. I’ll miss you.
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