I should be grading ceremonial speeches right now so I can hand them back to my students. I should be not eating Tollhouse milk chocolate chips out of a Jiff reduced fat peanut butter jar so I can fit into my wedding dress at my fitting Friday. I should be saving my money instead of investing in some special-request items my fiancee mentioned wanting. I should be...I should not be... Ugh. Conditional modals really stink.
For the greater part of the last nine months, my world has revolved around my jobs, family, and a blossoming relationship with the man of my dreams. I've been working long hours, losing and desperately seeking jobs, planning a wedding, helping my church,...and letting other things slide. While it's probably understandable, and even acceptable, to adjust priorities in the rush of life, I've felt like a piece of me has been missing for a long time--actually, make that a few pieces.
Last year I was on fire. On fire for God as I gained the courage to join a new church for the first time in five years. On fire for female bonding as I found a fantastic group of ladies in a Bible study who, time and time again, have loved on me, listened to me, encouraged me, prayed for me, and put up with my insanity. :) On fire for writing as I finished a novel, went to a national conference, and even had several publishers and an agent give me the nod to submit. It's this last one that's killing me--I let those opportunities slide.
Granted, there were valid reasons why I put off the novel submission. I had realized several stylistic and thematic holes that needed fixing. I knew, as an unpublished author, I needed a fantastic draft to really help me get into the publishing world. So I decided to take the 6-8 weeks offered and work on my book. Problem was, I was working three jobs (teaching 3 classes at one college, 2 at another, and also working part-time in financial aid) and dating a man who consumed nearly every thought I had. It became easier to fall under the stress of the workload and the bumps of a new relationship with every day...and my novel began gathering dust.
Then I decided to break myself out of my months-long dry spell and submit the novel's first few chapters to a national competition. I felt so confident as I sent off my newly-revised baby off to the judges--the style was new and fresh, every mistake had been corrected, and I had managed to weave in more details to really attract a reader. A month later I was emailed back and told, nicely, that the judges didn't really care for my work. Most of them missed the point of my unusual opener and misunderstood what I was trying to do. Some nitpicked (understandably) at details that, to them, were unrealistic when they were actually autobiographical and completely valid and true (I guess truth is too strange to be fiction some days). Feeling as though I had failed, I again shelved the book. I told people I would just work on a more "standard-format" novel in the meantime, that I hadn't given up. Truth is, I gave up a long time ago. When you're facing multiple jobs, financial stress, a looming wedding where I can't seem to make anyone happy, relationship maintenance, and the thousands of changes that occur when you promise to completely change your life...writing just seemed to be a waste of time.
I suppose what hurts the most is that while I miss writing and the passion I had for a creation that was mine and God's alone, I don't really want to do it anymore. Keeping up with blogs, the research...all those things I loved to do just pale in comparison to setting up house and trying to make my future marriage as strong as it can be. Maybe my priorities have shifted. Maybe my passion for writing was a misguided obsession. Maybe I should just not even mourn the loss of a not-really-there skill and just move on with my life. There are more important things than a woman sitting alone at a computer, trying to breathe life into a flat character. Like cleaning the mouse poop out of my kitchen drawers. Like encouraging my fiancee to be creative and explore his passions for the first time in his life. Like making sure I can help put bread on the table and heat in the house. Like finally putting myself in the precarious position as a witness for Christ and daring to reach others.
Right?
