Unexpected Gifts

I woke up to one of the greatest gifts that I could have hoped for this morning. I am not sure how to describe it. About six years ago, I decided that I got so much enjoyment out of writing that I wanted to make a conscious effort to hone my skills. I wanted to treat it like a second job. I wanted to do the work and find a way to make my way in this world as a writer.

I cut back on the baking, I put away the quilting, I put less thought to fun activities and focused as much of my life as possible to telling good stories.

I also set up a five year plan. A plan to be supporting myself with my writing at the end of five years. Five years came and went. The ultimate goal had not been reached. I kept at it. I decided that if I dedicated myself more fully to the work things would happen for me as I had planned. I started thinking about changes. Am I doing too much of what everyone else is doing? Is it just the wrong time? Am I just not very good at this? Going into year six, I found myself at a crossroads.

I have been standing at that crossroads questioning everything. From approach and Internet accessibility and geography, to officially choosing my audience and actively pursuing them.

I have put in the time, the hours, the work, began learning marketing, cover art, and other essentials. I have even delved into the world of YouTube. I have had lots of fun with all of it but still, as my sister Vonda loves to say, no joy. How could something that is giving me new skills, helping me to grow as a person, and generally makes my life fun and meaningful not be my purpose? How can I not be reaching the goal completely? What am I doing wrong? What is wrong with me?

This morning, I realized the most important thing. I am still here.

It is something that I ran across while grieving the death of my late husband, Sam.

The concept is that you accept that one of the worst things that you can imagine has happened to you. You also recognize this one thing. I am still here. This morning I was able to do that.

I worked out a specific plan for my future that did not work out. I am still here. All of the hours, the weekends and vacations spent writing. I am still here. Lightning has not struck me down because the pursued success was not achieved within the preset time line. I did not wake up one day with a second head. I am not a pariah of society because the first plan failed. It was just the first plan.

I looked at what these last 66 months have gotten me. Over 200 posts on my fiction blog, two novels, the beginnings of two screenplays, and ideas for two more novels. Two novellas as well as all of the lovely other bits and bobs that have popped up randomly over the years. I have never been without something to do on a Saturday night, my clothes are always comfortable, and shaving my legs is my option. The venue is also always my option. I never have to argue with someone over what music I decide to play. I have laughed and cried a couple of times. I get a sense of accomplishment and I know that something solid will still exist long after I am gone.

If the writing is the potatoes and the plan for being successful is the gravy...I may not have gravy, but I do have one helluva pile of potatoes. Gravy is nice but you don’t have to have gravy to enjoy a good batch of mashed potatoes. Good cooks know that.

Do I have a second plan? I am glad that you asked that. I do. The second plan is to call over one of the flying bubbles that is so common in Faerie and let it guide the way. Flying by the seat of my pants has been working so far with the fiction, why not let it help me in other areas as well? Things may not work out but at least I get to see more of Faerie this way. I know that there will always be potatoes waiting for me. There is nothing like a good batch of potatoes.

Today I would like to raise my fork in acknowledgement of everyone with naked potatoes. We’re still here.