Thursday, April 19, 2012

Q Quitting was never an option.

Writing a novel—being an author—is one of those things I always just assumed I would do in life. As a child, I can still remember hearing my mom talk about me, telling people "She'll be a writer!". She was so sure, and I believed her.

I wrote lots of little stories, and I always did well in any language arts class, but the death of my Father when I was ten took a lot of my passion from me. I know many artists find artistic inspiration in their grief. I didn't. After that, I really rarely wrote for pleasure.

 I can't say that I was a stellar student. I was one of those students (kicking myself now) that could have gotten A's, but wasn't interested. Why didn't someone give me a hard time??? Ugh! Oh, I know why. We were all completely shattered and rearranged after my Fathers death. Our family wasn't normal and my middle school years we were all just trying to get by without imploding. My high school years we were trying to get by without killing one another. Through college I recall every single language arts/writing/English teacher I have ever had, giving some version of the same "talk". "You're writing is so good, you just need to focus...and come to class! This could be great if you would work a little harder." Hmmm.

Was it enough of a nudge? No. Someone should have hit me over the head with a 2x4. Instead of excelling I ended up quitting college and having my oldest son and getting married. It's so easy to look back and see where I went wrong. It's also easy to look around and see where I went totally right. (See those three sweet faces in my header.)

 As cliche' as it sounds, life got in the way of my writing. It wasn't meant to be, for whatever reason. I have accepted that. It was my mother who was incredibly relieved when I told her I'd started writing a novel three years ago. I still remember her reaction, "I knew you would". I'm here now and that's really all that matters.

There have been moments where I thought my time had passed, maybe everyone had been wrong. But now I realize that maybe the time has finally come for a reason. I have the knowledge and experience I need from this crazy life to write the stories I want to write. I have the time to do it, and the family to support me. I can't quit now because my mother is waiting, darn it. I know she wants to say "I knew it." I'm dying to give her that satisfaction.
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