Friday Confession

I can spend all day, coming up with one thing or another to write about, yet every time I log in, and finally set myself to write, I’m a whiteboard that’s been wiped clean.  I’m an electronic memo, and I’ve been cleared.

I could write about my day.  Hubby and I rearranged our home office after I finished with our daughter in school.  Fridays are usually the weekly make-up day, as we make-up any work we put off doing Monday through Thursday.  She’s in four classes a day, also participating in what I call ‘After-school Stride’, and we finish with a Content Learning Session.  Most of the time we finish up decently, but she also has days when I can tell she isn’t trying.

So, after we finished with school, I was up to my waist in maneuvering office furniture.  I was initially trying for an office/living room in our bedroom, but soon realized we weren’t using the patch of living room.  Taking away the living room portion, our office is now a ‘full’ home office.  We have a lounge couch and a kitchen niche, like a teacher’s lounge.  Then hubby and I have our double-desk, a counter-height kitchen table set for two, and now we have a table for layout-spreading.  I am so serious about building my manuscript, I’ve begun the process of rewriting and revising previously written rough drafts.  Every time I finish a story, I’ll print it for my physical copy.  I have a story about chicken slick coming along impressively by my standards, and I want to submit it to a writing contest.  I have until the end of the month.

Taking two days off to maul over my hubby’s critique, and to think about the contents of the current draft, I’m working further revisions in the morning.

I’m trying so hard to find my voice in writing.  I can feel the emotions in someone’s story or a singer’s song, and I can almost identically relive a memory complete with the emotional strength I felt at the time, but to put that emotion into words, so the reader can feel them, I struggle.

I do know the best thing I can do is keep at it.  I didn’t spend three years working to earn a BA in Arts for Creative Writing for nothing.  Rejection means try harder.  I can’t give up because this time it would be me giving up on myself and I can’t do that.

Until Monday… thank you for reading.

Have a great weekend!

Monday of Mondays

The beginning of a new work week is always a long, drawn out drag.  Laundry, school, and anything else that finds it’s way into my schedule.  I’m not complaining, just stating a fact is all.  It’s the same story every Monday.  I’m just writing about it for a change.

I begin the day feeling well-rested and motivated to take on any chore.  By the time school is over, and all homework is completed, I feel as if I’ve been run over, mentally, by a freight train.  One of the many negatives to being a writer, but it’s an occupation I love to hate.

I’m revisiting a lot of rough drafts I previously thought were polished stories.  Either that, or I’ve really grown in the last 6 months.  Between revising a short piece I titled ‘Chicken Slick’ about a recipe that’s been passed down through several generations, and another short piece titled ‘Christmas Crash Site’ I’m rewriting to submit to Chicken Soup for the Soul, I’d say my week is pretty well planned.

I really hope it doesn’t sound like I’m complaining about my job, because really I’m not.  Writing is my release.  I don’t like complaining to people about my woes because we all have them, whether we like, love, or hate our jobs.  As a homeschooling mother, I wouldn’t want to have it any other way.  Every job, every position has it’s ups and downs.  I prefer to stress myself out making sure my daughter’s grades are where I think they should be and working one-on-one with her, to stressing over the dreaded phone call I used to get from her brick and mortar school, everyday, because she was misbehaving so badly her teachers couldn’t handle her.  What a nightmare that used to be!

In Science class today, while her teacher is trying to teach about Newton’s ‘second law’, only a few were making an effort to participate.  So, her teacher nicely told everyone to virtually raise their hands to let her know they were present and actively participating.  The turnout wasn’t so nice.  Ten times, the teacher repeated herself, “Raise your hands if you are with me and can hear me.”  Ten times.  Out of 44 students, only 21 virtually raised their hands.  Not good.  So, she kicked them out.  I know it sounds harsh, and maybe even rude, but that’s why I like her Science teacher.  She’s no nonsense for the most part… as long as her students are following directions.  I’ve thought about becoming a teacher, but no.  I’ll stick to writing.

This evening I’m revising and rewriting ‘Chicken Slick’ because I know I can make it sound so much better than it’s current draft.  I seriously need to stop being afraid of my abilities.  It’s like I’m afraid of succeeding, or scared of my own potential, but it is only Monday.

Again, until tomorrow… and thanks for reading.