Sometimes I wonder who I’m kidding. Or is it “whom” I’m kidding. I grab trade publications off the racks at Barnes and Noble, I gobble up all things writing and literary like tapioca and I wonder who in the hell I think I’m kidding. I write in fits and starts. I have projects that float in the air and sometimes I just grab onto one and run for a while but then it runs away from me again. I don’t have much sticktoitiveness (it’s my word). I don’t have brand loyalty. I am a flake.
I write because I have to. I write because I breathe. I have very little post-secondary education and I know that a full undergraduate degree paired with some prestigious masters in residence in creative writing could point me like an arrow somewhere I’d like to be. I have written a lot. I will write more. I am almost finished with two projects now. They are long, long processes but they are the only thing in my life besides my marriage that I have stuck by.
I do get bored. As far as going back to school, I do get worried about money and time. I worry about the heavy influence of alcohol in universities (though I’m so old now, no one is going to ask me to go to a bar with them, surely) and I worry about rejection. I have had a lot of those two things. I worry that besides my nurturing motherhood and spouse-hood that I have very little to offer the world, this world that has given me so much. This life, this God, this Universe that has poured its gold coins in multitudes on me. I worry that I will never formulate how pretty my brain feels when I go off to the places I go. How it feels when a new character grabs me, takes me away somewhere, almost making all the other characters uninteresting and obsolete. How do I stick? Do I pray? Do I pray with great fervor just to finish something? Can my untamed brain settle down and stop resembling that poor little French girl that they found in the woods?
Lately fairies and muses whisper to me and I am younger. I am running through a garden and I am just finding out who I am. There’s a cute boy in a different school who goes to the same golden place that I go but I’m afraid to ask him who he is and what are either of us doing here.