Storytellersunplugged

On any given day I’m writing for pay. Gotta do it. Got bills. ‘Tis me job, and I do love it. I might be working on a novel, a short story, a poem or two, a radio play, a comic book, an article, a chapter for a history textbook, you name it. Most of my work falls in the horror/fantastic realm, though some does not. (History can be classified horror, though, if you really look at some of the shit that went on long ago…holy mackerel!)

I spend most of my time at my computer writing things that accomplish two goals – 1. they are things I want to write and 2. they are things an editor wants, or I’m pretty sure an editor want. Most of the time both goals are met. On occasion, #2 wins out over #1, but once I’m into the project, I usually end up liking it even if I wasn’t that keen on it to begin with.

With the incredible pace that full time writers often have to employ to survive, there hasn’t seemed much time left for just writing whatever I feel like writing. In fact, I’ve recently realized that my own personal writing has taken a back seat…like way back in the back of the bus back seat…to the more count-on-able gigs. I have a feeling that there are other full timers (and even part timers) who have found this to be true once you been relying on your to make or help make ends meet.

An aside: I’m sure there are writers who would say I should only write whatever I want to write and screw the rest…and those are more likely the writers who have a million dollar bestseller out of the gate each time, newbies who are still much more starry-eyed than I am, or those who have a significant other who can provide a financial safety net. But back to the point of this essay…

There’s an idea for a novel that has been rolling around in my gut, mind, and heart for a good many months now…close to a year. It is unlike anything I’ve written before, but over those months when I’ve sat down to type out a ghostly scene or creepy poem or article on elephants, it scratched at the base of my neck, reminding me it’s there, asking for a bit of my time. It’s been a very patient friend, this idea, even though I kept telling myself, “I don’t have time to get into this right now!”

But I finally gave in. About three weeks ago, I pulled up a fresh page on the computer screen and started hammering away. Today, I’m more than 20,000 words into it. And I absolutely love it. I love working on it. I love thinking about it. It may sound corny, but it moves me, it resonates in a deep, emotional place in my heart that few writings have. (And no, it’s not a romance!)

I can’t spend a great deal of time on it each day; for the time being it must remain in the back seat, though it’s not as far back as it used to be. But here’s the thing…I have to admit, my other writings are benefiting from me giving in to this patient, persistent, very personal project. I find myself rejuvenated about my work when before I’d been feeling less than energetic. I’m excited about writing again, when for a while I’d been feeling what I can describe most accurately as “content enough.”

Ah, sweet surrender. I’ve discovered ‘tis good for the soul. And in being so, good for the writer as a whole.

Beth