Hi friends! So, apologies, it’s been a little bit.
Life has been good and busy lately. It’s been 100% summer vibes, hot days and pools and ice cream cones.
The kiddos have been living their best lives. We’ve done a lot of this:
And some of this too:
Also this and this:
Oh, and Bobby was there too of course 🙂
Us grownups have also managed to have a little bit of fun.
We’ve picked crab at friends’ houses:
We’ve squeezed in exhausting trips to the gym:
Oh, and we dressed up like lunatics and danced our hearts out to 80s music All. Night. Long.
So yeah, it’s been a fun summer so far. And there’s so much more fun to be had.
I’m really going to do my best to blog as much as possible, but in the spirit of full disclosure, for the next few months, it may be a little infrequent. The good news is that there’s an exciting reason for it.
A few months ago I wrote a piece of narrative non-fiction (aka a literary essay thingamajig). I submitted it to a bunch of places and waited, and waited, and waited some more. And then a couple of rejections trickled in, which came as no surprise, because attempting to write professionally = 99.9% rejection/failure and about .1% acceptance/validation.
I also got the super fun form rejections that are just sent out to all of the losers without any kind of attempt at personalization, which makes you feel like not only does your writing suck, but it doesn’t even suck memorably enough to receive a specific response. Those are the best! And not at all demoralizing.
But then a few weeks ago, a very nice man from Crazy Horse Literary Journal emailed me with a very nice email, that said, improbably, miraculously, my piece had been chosen as the winner of their annual contest in the non-fiction category.
I had to read the email about 20 times before I believed it. I still only about half believe it.
I know Crazy Horse is not a name that rings bells for a lot of people, but for a writer, it’s a pretty big deal. They’ve published John Updike and Raymond Carver (!!). Past judges of this very contest included Joyce Carol Oates and Ann Patchet. And trust me, I have no delusions of grandeur to think my name even belongs in the same universe as those brilliant writers. I’m just saying, this is the kind of thing that I once upon a time dreamed about, back when I was a young and naive Creative Writing major who thought I’d be a wildly successful writer by the time I was 25 (excuse me while I laugh hysterically in young me’s face and tell her to GET A JOB, oh and also to stop drunk eating Pita Pit at 2am because that’s just not a good luck for anyone).
So anyway, when I submitted my piece those many months ago, I kind of made a little internal bargain with myself. If it got rejected everywhere, I’d put aside those pesky dreams and ambitions of being a Writer and settle happily for being a writer (lower case is key) and nurse. If it did, however, get accepted, I would take it as a sign to give this a shot.
So, well, here’s me, saying out loud, as terrifying as it is, as scared as I am that people will think I’m silly and stupid and deluded. I’m working on a collection of essays. I’m writing something literary and honest and personal, something very much tied into my life of the last 5 years. And the likelihood is that this collection of essays will stay with me, on my computer’s hard drive.
But I’m still going to try. I signed up for the James River Writer’s Conference in October. And I’m going to spend most of my free time (all 20 minutes a day) until then working on this project. And to do that, I’ve got to sacrifice some of my other writing outlets, at least temporarily. Which means I won’t be here as often.
I promise it’s not permanent. I love this blog. I love hearing from other mamas out there, connecting in this vast internet wilderness. I love writing about life in all of its tiny details and moments.
But I also know that I’ve got to really focus on this other thing, this little venture that is 99.9% likely to go absolutely nowhere, but .1% likely to maybe turn into something. Sometimes in life, you have to put your whole heart into a .1% success rate. It’s silly and crazy and totally foolish, but if you want something enough, if something matters to you and fills your soul up to the brim, you also have to be willing to be a total jackass in pursuit of that something.
It’s hard to admit this because writing tends to breed this really insane phenomenon, wherein writers are afraid to admit when they are writing. It kind of feels like announcing to a room full of people that I’ve decided to go into space or run for president. But the good thing is that as I’ve gotten older, it’s gotten easier. I guess I just care less about looking stupid. Childbirth and child-rearing have basically destroyed any dignity I had left, so what do I really have to lose?
So anyway, this is my long-winded way of saying, please be patient, please don’t forget about me. I’ll still be here. And I hope you will be too 🙂