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!