I have been writing…a lot. Due to some personal issues of two awesome Mommyish writers, I have been covering a lot of the news cycle. I wrote three articles on Saturday, two on Sunday, and five on both Monday and Tuesday. That’s somewhere around 7500 words in four days. It has been intense, but so rewarding. To see the volume and diversity of work published under my Mommyish byline blows my mind. Three months ago I was sitting behind a desk advising commercial mortgage originators on the legal implications of their loan structure. WHAT? Now here I am gobbling up freelance writing work like it was my job…oh right, it is my job now. I feel so blessed for the opportunities that have somehow found their way to me and my home computer.
All this other writing has left me with little time to write here on my own blog. Today, though, is my day of rest. No assignments calling my name, I settled in and wanted to write a much needed WTTM blog post. But it hasn’t been all about writing. This morning I built a cardboard rocketship with the kids and even got in a few minutes to read. Which is the other thing I have been doing a lot of at night.
When you cover the news, your mind is frantically searching for the headline of the moment; the latest celebrity under a microscope after giving birth, the newest published study to guilt parents, or the tragic story that needs to be told. After that, I need to unwind at night with some light fare and I’ve been scouring a ton of samples on my e-reader. These books are mostly what you might consider “chick lit.” Wow, is there some terrible crap out there! You look down your nose at Twilight or The Hunger Games, but at least those have original and compelling stories. Some of the stuff published under the chick lit umbrella is downright painful in its butchering of the English language.
As someone who once thought publishing a novel would be the best thing that could ever happen to a person, these terrible books both inspire and dishearten me. But in the end they really just help me refine my future endeavors. Until recently I have been saying my dream is to be a published author. Of course, I have done that now, but in my mind I think I really meant publishing a book. In any event, there are two problems with this goal. First, is, as I already mentioned, there is a lot of garbage published, because, to be honest, publishers need content. It’s the same as crappy news stories or painful movies. Producers of the goods need goods to put out. Some projects are lean, some are stunning. To simply be published isn’t all the glory and praise I once imagined. The second problem is I have no control over whether I get published or not. After my studies in yoga (any yogis will know the niyama I am talking about) I have learned to give everything I can in my effort but let go of the results.
With these two points in mind, I set a new intention. To continue to write what is in my head and my heart and to check in with how it is affecting my body and soul. I have created some ugly unintended controversy (first here and then I regret ever asking for a medal for my natural birth – even if I intended more humor in that opening paragraph than came across) and I am figuring out how to navigate those rough waters. I hope in the future I continue to tell more stories that I want to share, like the truth about my post-baby body, the feelings I have about Sabrina, and even revisit my screenplay in the form of a novel. I can hold those hopes close, but the truth is I have no idea where this writer’s journey will take me. That idea both thrills me and terrifies me, but I promise I will enjoy the ride.