I Have Questions

Tomorrow, I travel for work, and I feel that I need to be adequately prepared for my trips.  I must find the perfect pens and the perfect journal to take with me.  I need all of my gadgets to be completely charged so that I can either read the entire time or type to my heart’s contentment.  I have been thinking lately about writing another book.

I have been thinking lately about writing another book.  As a former English professor, I want to give a shot at fiction writing. I have started so many manuscripts without evening finishing any of them.  I would love to give NANOWRIMO a shot this year and finish.  I have been thinking about setting a goal to write at least 500 words a day.  I am torn.  Should those 500 words focus on a new manuscript, complete a new manuscript, or produce great material for my blogs.  Honestly, I just want to write.

I enjoy my job because the premise surrounds reading and writing.  I want to share my thoughts with the world. I do not know if it matters if someone refers to me as a writer, but I like the sound of it.  “I am a writer. Hear me ROOOAARR!” said no writer ever.

I wonder if writing is my calling. Am I going to wake up one morning and decide that I need to write for the rest of my life? Is this even possible? Perhaps, I should make a goal next year to just focus on writing.  I wanted to write and self-publish a book this year.  As the months keep coming and going, I am so not close to finishing a manuscript to publish.  I feel like I need to invent myself. In a few months, I will be 35.  I am starting to consider whether or not my life is going on the path towards living a fulfilled life.  I do not feel like I am there yet. Could being a writer make me feel like I have finally arrived? Have I arrived and just did not know it?

This week, I am going to take some time and start thinking about my life and how I want my writing to start to transform.  I want to be proud of what I produce as a writer.  I sometimes wish that I did not question my ability to get my thoughts down on a sheet of paper or type a manuscript.  Sometimes, I envy people who can just write a book in a month and make it seem to effortless.  However, is it truly effortless for them? Are they not neglecting something in their lives to write manuscript after manuscript?  Can they even exclaim that they are living a fulfilled life with the publications under their belt?

As you can see, I have questions. I need to know. I want to know.  Also, I need to focus more on the expectations that I have for myself.  I am successful. I have three books, and I know that people have bought them, even though I am not a New York Times Bestseller.  Do I need to be famous to feel validated as a writer?



Would you?

One of my favorite podcasts is Snap Judgment.  Recently, I listened to the story, entitled “The Recipients” from the segment, “Weight of the World.” I do not want to spoil the story, but a writer sends an email to other writers across the world. In essence, this writer jeopardized his life because he felt that outside of writing nothing else matter.  Hearing the story made me sad.  Authors give so much when they share with the world.  However, I believe that writers should never jeopardize their well-being because their talent or work is not embraced or appreciated. When you listen to the story, share your thoughts and comments.

Should writers jeopardize their lives, families, and well-being to be appreciated?

via Daily Prompt: Jeopardize

Quote Challenge: Day 1

I discovered the quote challenge and decided to participate.  I changed the rules. I plan on posting three quotes for three days.  If you read the post, please comment with your favorite quote or your reaction(s) to the quotes that I posted.

  1. “Whatever we believe about ourselves and our ability comes true for us.” – Susan L. Taylor

  2. It always seems impossible until its done. Nelson Mandela

  3. A creative man is motivated by the desire to achieve, not by the desire to beat others. Ayn Rand

This Moment

Have you ever been inspired to just write!?

I am lying in bed. My 10 month old has eased into sleep. My daughter is entranced by the computer. I’m listening to the nature sounds radio station on my Apple TV, and my heart says write.

I don’t really have anything that needs to be written, so I decided to write a post.

Do you get the urge to just do something for no particular reason?

So while you are reading this, I want to tell you that I am thinking of ways that I can inspire you to tell a story that needs to be heard.  This is the truth.



Writers are frail people, who become entangled in their own perceptions of themselves. Do you agree?

I think of myself as a writer.  When it comes to my writings, especially my blogs and my books, I am a delicate rose, whose petals may fall off if you stare too long.  Listening to a podcast, which included the interviews of two writers, I could not help but think of the frail nature of writers.  We can write all our lives, but we do not acknowledge ourselves as a writer until we have a career, which includes the word writer.

Am I a writer if I do not get paid for it? What constitutes the assignment of the title writer?  If I have a blog, am I a writer? Do I have to wait until other people acknowledge me as a writer?

Writers are sensitive.  I am guilty of not wanting to share a piece with anyone, especially after someone has disagreed with my writing or my thoughts.  Do I need to be sensitive about my work?

Are you a frail writer?  If you consider  yourself a writer, why? If you write but do not consider yourself a writer, why?




Feeling Ecstatic

I am a planner, who often plans everything that happens or need to happen. When things do not go as planned, I have to adjust, like we all do. My plans were immediately changed when I received a job offer and started working. Sometimes, I forget how unpredictable life can be.

I think about this blog and posting often, but lately, the unpredictability of life interferes with the creation of a blog post. Strangely, this blog is the first one that I have created, which makes me feel like I have a connection with the readers. I like this feeling of writing for my readers. I like checking my blog and reading comments. I cannot wait to respond to comments.  I will try to post often, even if I have to use my cell phone.  I like posting every day.  I look forward to sitting at my computer and typing up my thoughts. Don’t you?

Starting a new career this week was unpredictable, but I am ecstatic. This new career has the potential to propel me as a writer. I look forward to being able to grow continually as a writer and sharing with you.

What unpredictable event has transformed your life?


A Worn Path

When I write, I hope that people feel like that are on a journey to reach my overall point.  I enjoy reading books, which are taking me on a fictional or nonfictional journey.  I am curious about where I am going and what will happen on the way.  Perhaps, I need to master how I am taking my readers on journeys.  Should I care if my readers prefer not to take a trip while reading what  I write? Do my readers want to me to get straight to the point?

One of my favorite short stories to teach the writing process is A Worn Path by Eudora Welty. Welty’s ability to depict Phoenix’s long journey leaves much to the imagination.
Have you read it? Read it and share your thoughts.


An Unwanted Guest

Traveling to my parents’ house, I never knew that I would be an unwanted guest. Heading North on the Interstate, I was chatting with my oldest son, while his younger siblings enjoyed the movie, Antz, being played on the DVD player. Suddenly, I noticed bright blue lights flashing heading South in the opposite direction and immediately adjusted my cruise control.

Then, I received the unwanted invitation to be the guest for a police chase.We noticed that the car in front of the state trooper was not slowing down. When we passed the state trooper and the car, going in the opposite direction, we saw that a police chase was occurring. My heart skipped a beat. With everything that is happening in the news, all I could think was “That is not going to end well.” My heart started pounding. My chest ached. My children became worried. They kept saying, “He isn’t stopping.” Staying focused on the driving in my direction, I was just glad that the chase was not on our side of the busy Interstate. Thinking I had witnessed the end of the chase, I was so wrong.

All of a sudden, I heard my children say, “His signal light is on. He is turning around!” My son said, “Mama, he is coming this way.” I said, “Quit playing.” Then, I saw it. The old silver Mercedes proceeded to make a U-turn, where sheriff deputies for the next county usually sit for a speed trap. Now, the Mercedes was driving in the direction that we were headed. My heart skipped several beats. I merged from the left lane into the right lane. I kept glancing in my rearview mirror. Those shiny blue lights seemed to be in slow motion headed towards me. The other cars behind me did not want to move over. I kept thinking that I hope no one would try to play the hero and jeopardize the lives of everyone, including my children and I. When the silver Mercedes passed by, smoke hissed from the tires. The force from the state trooper and the Mercedes car pushed my car closer to the shoulder on the Interstate. My initial belief that the police chase was not going to end well was heightened when I noticed that the silver Mercedes was ancient.

Once the state trooper and the silver Mercedes zoomed past us, I felt relief. I spent several minutes trying to soothe my children. Our silent fears became loud. We hoped the state trooper was safe. We hoped the driver was safe. We sought to justify why he would run away from the state trooper. We just tried to eliminate the fear that was pressing deep on our hearts, especially mine. As we passed an exit, we saw the state trooper with standing behind the door of his car, and his gun aimed. My chest fell to my feet. I started praying, “Please do not let my children be a witness to this person’s death.”

The driver jumped out of the car. His hands raised. The state trooper’s gun aimed at his head. The driver kicked off his Nike flip flops and started walking toward the state trooper. Smoke streamed from the front of the ancient Mercedes. The other cars, heading in the direction that I was going, slowed down. I wanted to blow my horn and say, “Get the hell out of the way,” but I just drove. I refused to look in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t. As I proceeded to get as far away from the scene as possible, I exchanged looks with another driver. Our looks demonstrated that we were in disbelief about what we had just witnessed.

I did not want my invitation to be a guest to witness a police chase. I hope I never get an invitation to another one.