I’m a Liar/Compromise?
Writing isn’t really about getting published, not for me anyway. Yeah, that was my dream as a teen, and it would be really cool now, but in reality writing has given me hope. It has given me something to dream about, plan and look forward to.
The rest of my life is routine, no change in sight. There will always be dishes, laundry, and kids, but I can write a story and reach the end.
I put up a good show on this blog, but the truth is I’m afraid of actually finding an agent and getting published. That dream has been my life line. What do I hold onto if it’s gone?
Lately, my hubby has been worried, frustrated, even angry with me and this “writing thing”. Which in turn makes me feel the same way. I don’t expect him to GET IT, and he has some valid points.
- I spend way to much time reading blogs,
- or writing blogs (I have five blogs)
- chatting with people I’ve never met and probably never will
- I don’t interact with my kids as much as he thinks I should (probably true, but they just want to play the wii anyway.)
- the house is not white glove clean
- when we try to have a conversation (hubby and me) my book or my bloggy friends are all that I can talk about. In my defense, all he talks about is work or church.
- I put in the hours of a full time job with nothing to show for it–his words not mine.
This week he mentioned that he hopes no one ever shows interest in the book because he’s afraid he’ll lose me even more. OUCH!
The scary thing is that when I was in the darkest days of my depression, writing gave me a reason to stick around. It was just for me. A way to explore the corners of my mind, work out emotions I couldn’t deal with as my own, but when put on a fictional character I could view them differently. Logically.
I write because I NEED to write to stay whole. I write and seek publication because I would be a hypocrite if I didn’t try. My whole life has been spent telling others they can do anything they want. So, I have to do what I want as well.
How do I compromise? How do I shut off the compulsion to write, communicate, and socialize so I can be the wife and mother I should be?
I have writer friends who have said, “Enough is enough!” They stopped querying and packed the stories away. Is that the only way? Should I stop and wait until my kids are grown and gone before chasing this dream? Just the thought of doing that makes me feel like I’m suffocating.
Do I stop blogging and querying and just write? Perhaps I finish writing the whole four book series, then revise and edit it to death over the next few years. I have three other ideas after those.
Would that be enough? Will it ever be enough? I feel ripped in two.
Mom or writer? Is it possible to be both and be good enough at both?
Without hubby’s support, my doubts are mounting.