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I am in the thick of it.
Yes, no matter how much I try to end this dry season and type at least a sentence, the cries of a babe or the repairs of a new house refuse to allow me to move forward.
I tried to fight through the distractions. After all, a couple of agents and an editor requested my stuff. How could I wait any longer? And I tried to ignore the boxes and mess when the baby was sleeping, so I could write. But just as the dishes piled high and the packing paper flooded the rooms, my anxiety grew and I knew...Life had to trump the dream...for a bit. It wasn't easy. I wanted to throw a fit—to scream out, “Why now!? Why, when I might have a fighting chance at going somewhere with this, why do I have to set it aside?”
During the first days that I declared my life too demanding to dedicate to writing, the heavy weight of defeat and self-disappointment gave way to the little devil whispering in my ear:
This was just a hobby anyway
If you can't get your submissions out now, what makes you think you can meet deadlines later?
It was all a pipe dream
And for a while, I allowed myself to believe it all. I continued on with life as normal—sleep-deprived nights with an infant, unpacking and organizing a family of six, adjusting to a new town and new people. In the back of my mind I wondered,
Do I even care about writing?
How easy it is to ignore that writing was ever important to me.
But my characters are alive. Their pulses still throb and wobble my thoughts. Their ever-so faint words spark some hope that their story will be told. My story haunts me. Writing isn't what I once did, it is who I am. With a firm flick, I knock that little devil off my shoulder and grasp onto the dream.
Perhaps, life will ease up. This drought will end and I can finally splash the last scenes upon the page. Oh how I wish that to be so! Perhaps, life isn't ready to give me room yet. And I think I am okay with that. Not happy about it, but alright. One day, I'll find the time. I'll sit and conjure up sentences and fill the pages. I will take the advice of William Wordsworth, “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.”
Have you taken a true break from writing? How long was it? What were your circumstances?