Fruits Of My Labor
I wish that I could tell you that writing is easy. I wish that I could tell you that writing is effortless. I wish that I could tell you that the words fall from the sky onto the page in a magical fashion. I wish that I could tell you that. If I told you those things, I would be lying to you.
I remember when I first decided to write a book. I was very young. I don’t know why I had the idea that I was going to write it and it was going to be perfect and I would never have to revise. I thought that I was some literary genius that had yet to be discovered. I laugh at this now, but I believed that for a long time. I wrote a poem a day for I don’t know how long and I never made a revision. I would keep writing until I was satisfied. I have poems everywhere. In all of my genius, I would forget my journal at home or in another purse or leave it on my desk at work and being the writer that I am I could not live without a journal. I would buy a new one. Again, I laugh at this now, but I have so many journals until it’s not funny. I love it though. I love that I was passionate enough to know that I needed to write, right now, not when I get back to my journal, but whenever the urge hit.
Some of my writing is gone forever due to basement floods and children thinking my journals are theirs to draw in. I could be upset about it, but I am not. I should have been more careful with my gift. I think this now that I have published a book. Don’t get me wrong. I had created other books, poetry books that I sold at my church and my job, but now that I have a book for sale in a store, I see things very differently. The process of putting the book out was much like having a baby. The stages of labor were very similar. It is that last push, that one where you get to see the product of your labor that brings tears to your eyes. You hold your baby and tears flow, but you are laughing, all the while you are in pain. You love that baby and from that point on you are its protector. I feel that way about my work.
Emotionally, I would say that writing is more intense than having a baby. I only say that because as I come to the close of my novel, and I start to believe that I am ready to hand it over to the editor my heart swells. I get nervous and anxious, and then I decide, well maybe I need to do a few more things to the manuscript, so I hesitate to send it, this is the thing you can’t do with a baby. When that baby is ready to come into the world, there is nothing that you can do to stop it. Writing is the same, except for handing over your finished work. You can procrastinate with that all that you want. However, as a writer you want people to read your work. You want people to love your work and to keep coming back for more, so you must call it finished at some point.
Your children? Well, you want those turkeys to grow up and get out! I laugh at that, but it is true as well.
I have three loves, The Great I AM, my family, and my writing. I am my own worst critic, but the time has come to realize my talent and to spread my wings. I write because I AM…
Recent PostsSee All
I have had some time to think about what it is that I want to write and if the words will have consequences. I don’t know that I am worried about any of the consequences as I am more concerned with ha
I have been researching a project that I am working on, and in looking over documents and watching interviews, it astounds me to hear that a white person during slavery had never seen a black person.