|Hubby and I on a recent beach trip.|
|Saw this on a recent trip to South Carolina and just had to stop and take pics.|
I guess they think I'm hanging around, getting rusty.
Here's the thing. I never stopped writing. But writing is not the same thing as publishing. Publishing involves writing what the market demands and what the economy will allow. And doing it so well a publisher will risk thousands to put it out there. It means selling myself. It involves difficult decisions about whether to submit to an agent or to the people I love already. (Paralyzing!) It uses a different part of the brain than writing does. It means relentless marketing. It means focus.
And who has enough hours in the day to do it all? Alas! Most writers do not own a Wonder Woman cape.
I'm going through a phase. It's called real life and family. I'm in the middle of my aging parents and my children and my grands and sometimes I do feel like a sandwich. Somewhere, between the slices of life, are my publishing dreams.
But the slices of life are thick and crusty at times. Filled with sorrow, hard work, and just plain fun. Memory making days. Evenings to just be with the people I love. I know this is a phase and it won't last forever.
I'm hanging on to some parts of this - the moments in my parents' home which, I assume, will eventually be sold to strangers. Lingering beneath the tremendous oak tree at the back door, cleaning bathrooms, and holding my father's hand when he prays before meals - I'm soaking these up.
A few years ago we spent one amazing day at my mother's death bed. My quiet mom ruled the day with her sweet spirit and her delight in greeting each member as we arrived. The memory fills me with a strange joy.
|My father and mother on her last day with us.|
Daddy is 92 and when he's gone I want to know that I enjoyed being with him even when I could have been writing a query letter. There will be time in life for publishing contracts and I do continue to pursue them. Sometimes. (Though not relentlessly, so maybe I am getting a little rusty.)
But later, when I'm on my deathbed, I want more than a shelf of books to look at. The stories I write will be part of my legacy for sure. But the stories I want on my last day will be the ones my people tell about our time together.
My incredible, faithful, hubby. Our two amazing children-all grown up now. Those giggling grands. And my siblings too. Their faces and the stories they tell are the legacy I want to leave.
|Checking the crab traps.|