A Little Writing Leads to a Tangent.

I am continuing to write, but have discovered, I'm great at starting stories, not so great at completing them. The problem is, as I start one story, it seems 10 others surround it and vie for an equal portion of my attention.

And no story in particular, necessarily, begins at the beginning. Some, I have endings for. Others I'm somewhere that I know belongs in the middle of that story. However they are each distinct stories from one another. Some, are even just pictures in the vivid universe that makes up my imagination. I can see them, but have not found the words to share them with others.

Then, there is the illustrating. In truth, I'd love to do my own, and have intentions of getting started on a, long over due, book. Of course, there is a need for time, and equipment. I'm getting there, but still need a couple of things, before I start. I am a tad giddy at the idea of moving forward.

It has meant overcoming insecurities and doubts about my artistic capabilities. After all, if it isn't aesthetically appealing, who will like my book enough to read it? Then again, people like Dr. Seuss books, Shel Silverstein, and others who've done their own illustrating. The worst I could do is try and fail. Or is that the best I could do? After all, have I really grown or learned, if I haven't failed in the process?

But back to time. People are always telling me there will be time, when my kids are older, to be me and to do what is in me to do. I can wait, because, well kids grow so quickly and leave so soon that they can not wait, but I... I will still be here and still have those things in me to do.

I don't believe this and am quite frankly sick of hearing it. For one, they are, in honest, telling me I am NOT important. Also, people die ALL THE TIME. Even before their kids grow, some, even before they've even made it earthside, so never even reach the point of having their own children. Two, making time to do what is in me to do as me, the person I am created to be, doesn't mean I can not give to my children what they need from me. In fact, I think it makes me MORE able to do this. After all, if I am empty, what is left for me to give? Not only that, but what do my children learn if I lock myself away and say, "I'll be me when you are grown. I'll achieve my dreams and my purposes, after you leave."?

Yet, guilt weighs heavily on me at the idea of making time to do what I am moved to do. To write, to make art, to be creative and adventurous, etc. So many things "need" my time and attention, that I'm already stretched thin. How can I make the necessary time for me? That time could/"should" be spent on my husband, my children, my home, our farm, my friends, etc and all the responsibilities that go with each... And that guilt drags me to the back burner of  my priorities.

This is why I am thankful to the friends that God has blessed me with, who encourage me and lift me up. Who remind me that I am a writer. I am a good mother. I do need to be me and do my own thing. That yes, my kids are growing and someday they will be gone and they deserve to know me as me. And so, I move forward, baby step, by baby step towards finding my way out of the dungeon of condemnation towards the light of living sincerely and openly, while I still have time to do that with my kids. 

Creative Mind

A teacher once asked me what my most prized possession was. I replied, "My imagination, because I can take it with me wherever I go. No one can take it away from me."

I've been creating imaginary worlds, all my life, when not enjoying ones created by other authors. I have so many stories and ideas for stories caught up in this place, I call my mind. Yet, so little of it is ready to share.

Time. I don't make the time for it. With all the other things I have going on in my life, combined with my insecurities, I've not made the time.

I do have one book being illustrated. A book I wrote nearly a decade ago. I hope to publish it, before the end of the year.

I still haven't done anything more with the one I intend to illustrate myself.

I've got a handful of partially written out things, as well as, another handful, of outlined ideas and notes for possibilities.

But they don't scratch the surface of what awaits inside.

I'm often told that, someday, I shall have the time. I will be able to give my attention and focus to it, because my kids will be grown and not need me so much. Honestly, I'd rather not wait that long. However, that means making the time for it.

To be fair. I was interrupted at least 14 times before I got to this point of this small post. Being able to hyper-focus on my writing can be quite difficult, but I am trying. Little by little, post by post, I am trying to get into the habit of writing and making time to do it.