I had another short story accepted for publication a couple of weeks ago. (It should be out soon.) Thrilled, to say the least. That’s story #7 to be published. What does it mean? It means I’ve published seven stories. Nothing more, nothing less.
On good days, I think that something big is coming. That publishing two stories in 2009, and one already in 2010, is a sign that things are snowballing. Soon a small press will want to publish the collection, and then a novel. Or an agent will take notice and represent all of my work. A fat contract. An advance. You know the drill.
Then there are the other days – most days – where it’s just about the writing. Writing is the end in itself. Though right now I’m feeling a bit paralyzed in the brain.
I’ve felt this way often. There is a lot of writing to be done, and I think about it constantly, but don’t know where to dive in. It’s even more daunting now that I have more time to write. Truly there is no excuse.
I have a new short story I’ve been writing since last July. I should finish that.
My novel, Dunderhead, has sat in the drawer for a year. Good time to dust it off and read it again. I should, I should, I should….
But now, ah, my motivation has come. I’m going back to school.
Specifically, at the end of June, I will head back to Vermont for a five-day writers’ conference, the Clockhouse Writers Conference, at Goddard College (my grad school).
I was very involved in CWC after graduating in 2001, going back each summer from 2002-2005 for the conference. It always rejuvenated my writing, my soul, my spirit. Being immersed with other writers, away from most of ‘civilization,’ was very clarifying. And I need that again.
The last time I went to CWC, in 2005, I was about eight months pregnant. Mostly I remember the oppressive heat but I also remember reading work by my fellow writers, inspired by their words, their passion, and their friendship. I have missed that.
With raising a family and working full-time during the past five year, writing – especially the luxury of a writing retreat – wasn’t something I could indulge in. Now, my daughter is nearly five and we have family to help out while I’m gone. And it was really my sweet husband who insisted that I go.
But I don’t want to wait until June to start writing seriously again. I need to make my own mojo. Starting now.