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this writer’s life

This morning my therapist made me say out loud, “I am an author.”

This is a hard thing to claim when my book is yet unpublished.  In the writers’ world, publication equals success.

I struggle with this writing life.  I am a perfectionist.  An academic junkie.  A book devourer.  A prolific and passionate writer.  And a clueless and shy promoter of my own work.

I like to work hard, and then I like to sniff the pretty blooms that grow from my efforts–a difficult thing to do when this novel-writing tree has yet to bear fruit.

I have written one novel and am in the thick of writing my second.  Though I will write to the end of my days and feel blessed to have this inclination, for some reason, it’s heart-wrenching to think that I can put thousands of hours into something that will collect dust in a drawer until I die.

However.  If I am to say “yes” to the adventure and bliss of a writing life, then I must say “yes” to its uncertainty and loneliness.  The whole package.

I’ve come to realize we have two choices in life: to follow our dreams/hearts, or to turn down their volume and wonder what that nagging feeling is that won’t leave us alone.

At this point, I have erased any other option than to relentlessly follow my dream of being a (published) author.  The time is now, and I plan to wring the nectar out of this one life I have.

Welcome to my world, to my work space in the Treehouse, a window into this writer’s life:

IMG_0194

this writer’s work space in a treehouse

the behind-the-scenes process of this writer.

the behind-the-scenes process of this writer.

mentors and sources of inspiration

mentors and sources of inspiration

notes to self

notes to self

this writer's filing system

this writer’s filing system

 

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