Where Dreams Meet the Business of Writing

Posts tagged ‘writing’

I Got Nothing #IWSG

August 5 question – Quote: “Although I have written a short story collection, the form found me and not the other way around. Don’t write short stories, novels or poems. Just write your truth and your stories will mold into the shapes they need to be.”

Have you ever written a piece that became a form, or even a genre, you hadn’t planned on writing in? Or do you choose a form/genre in advance?

The awesome co-hosts for the August 5 posting of the IWSG are Susan Baury Rouchard, Nancy Gideon, Jennifer Lane, Jennifer Hawes, Chemist Ken, and Chrys Fey!


I Got Nothing

Apparently not even good grammar, according to the first thought that came through my mind as I reflected on what to write about for this month’s Insecure Writers Support Group post.

I usually try to write my post to answer the monthly question. But this month? Not a thing. I’ve never had a piece I was writing morph into a different animal than I had planned. At least not yet. Someday it may happen, but not in time to help with out with this question.

And seeing as how my writing has gone the past few months – or should I say NOT gone? – I don’t have much to add on that topic either. On the first of the month, I always go through and tally up the words I’ve written the month prior. In July I didn’t even hit 5,000 words. It may truthfully be a tad bit higher than that, since I don’t count what I write in my weekly newsletters. But those few extra words aren’t going to add massive numbers to that monthly count.

And queries and submittals? I did write one essay to submit. When I added it to my queries/submissions list, I saw that the last one I’d submitted was in May. In May I submitted one piece. June and July – zero. Zilch. Nada.

You’d think with all this extra time at home, with my day-job work hours so drastically cut since March, that I’d be racking up the numbers in the word count game.

Not so.

But hey, looking at the bright side (can I toss any more clichés into this little missive?), at least thanks to the nudging from the Insecure Writers Support Group, I now have 304 more words I can add to my August word count tally.

Thanks Insecure Writers Support Group!

Does a Deadline Count? #IWSG


Today I’m writing for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s blog hop. The first Wednesday of each month, we write in inspiration to a question posed by the group’s administrators. We don’t need to write in response to the question posed, but I like to use their query as the springboard for the monthly post.

This month’s question is:

Do you have any rituals that you use when you need help getting into the ZONE? Care to share?

The awesome co-hosts for the The awesome co-hosts for the May 6 posting of the IWSG are Feather Stone, Beverly Stowe McClure, Mary Aalgaard, Kim Lajevardi, and Chemist Ken!


Does a Deadline Count?

Alas, I have no fascinating ritual that I can call to mind and share to inspire others with. I read the question and had a huge moment of silent space.

Upon further reflection, I realized that my greatest motivator when I need to ‘get in the zone’ is simply having a deadline. That propels me forward like nothing else.

I’ve also discovered since the Coronavirus has invaded our world and our lives, that having a finite time period to accomplish a writing task is most effective for me. When I have a specific open time slot – Tuesday afternoon when I’m not working, or Saturday after the newsletter is done, or Sunday morning before I call Mom – that is when I’m most productive at juggling writing with other real-life activities.

Since Coronavirus, when I’ve been home with very few working hours over the past five weeks…ehhh…I’m not so good at it. With all these extra writing hours available to me, I should have been pumping out the articles and finishing up the half-completed projects.

That hasn’t happened – possibly reinforcing that I do really require that deadline.

Yet, in a way I’ve been more at peace with myself since life hasn’t been as frantic. I’m learning to be easier on myself if I don’t accomplish all my active brain thinks I should get done. A happier, more relaxed me is also a healthier me – in body and spirit.

So maybe I haven’t been in the ‘writing zone’ as much lately, but I’ve been in the ‘life-zone’, and I think I’ll count that as a good thing.

Memories and Recollections

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Today, introduces the letter M.

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Memories and Recollections

The excerpt below doesn’t deal specifically with writing historical fiction. It’s from a workbook I created for a class I was teaching on writing your family stories. However, since we often refer to people’s memories of a time past when we’re researching for writing historical fiction, I thought the topic would apply to our roles as historical fiction authors.


Whether we are writing memoir, historic documentation of a family history, or creating a fictional tale based on true beginnings, we rely heavily on memory – which has been proven to be imperfect.

Our own memories, even though we think we have perfect recall, may err drastically from the truth of what actually happened. The family members that we interview may be spot on in the memories they think of to tell you. Or, those moments may have been distorted by the passage of time and the many experiences that have occurred since.

A lot may vary just because of our own individual perceptions of an event. I was talking to a co-worker about this subject one day. There were three of us in the room discussing some now-forgotten work drama and how another employee’s version of what happened differed so drastically from theirs.

I commented that even if someone came in immediately after our conversation and recorded details about what happened – they’d get three different stories. There may be much in common, but we all pay attention to different details. One will recall the conversation with more accuracy. Another may not remember much at all because their mind was far away, dwelling on one of their own problems and they weren’t paying attention. Another may remember the clothing that was worn, or the perfume that filled the room, while with someone else the clothing or its color may not have even registered.

Next, add ten, twenty, or sixty years to the timeline. How accurate is that memory going to be?

In Writing Life Stories, Bill Roorbach tells a story that his sister likes to frequently re-tell. It involves a younger brother, sucking on a blue toy bolt until it stuck to his lip. The sister finally wrestled it off and when it came loose the younger brother’s lip swelled to tremendous proportions and everyone freaked.

Except…the author claims that his sister wasn’t there. He was. The bolt was yellow, not blue. And he and his mother both laughed about it. He writes,

“Memory is faulty. That’s one of the tenets of memory. And the reader comes to memoir understanding that memory is faulty, that the writer is going to challenge the limits of memory, which is quite different from lying.”

He also writes,

“Even facts distort: What’s remembered, recorded, is never the event itself, no matter how precise the measurement…”

Just be aware that our individual perceptions and the passage of time may alter what we try to convey as historical fact. Sometimes a bit of a disclaimer worked into the narrative may help smooth over some of the possible differences in account.

  • As far as I recollect…
  • The conversation went something like…
  • My ex – let’s call him Doofus James…
  • The story of how he got his first job bootlegging may be lost, but one can assume…
  • Though the details have been lost through the years, it most likely…

All in all, since we’re most likely not out looking for journalistic awards for this work, the important thing to know is that recording our family’s legacy is what’s important. As Carol Lachappelle, in Finding Your Voice Telling Your Stories, shares: The poet Anne Sexton wrote, “It doesn’t matter who my father was, it matters who I remember he was.”

Living in the Past


Today I’m writing for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s blog hop. The first Wednesday of each month, we write in inspiration to a question posed by the group’s administrators. We don’t need to write in response to the question posed, but I like to use their query as the springboard for the monthly post.

This month the OPTIONAL IWSG Day Question is: Of all the genres you read and write, which is your favorite to write in and why?

The awesome co-hosts for the June 5 posting of the IWSG are Diane Burton, Kim Lajevardi, Sylvia Ney, Sarah Foster, Jennifer Hawes, and Madeline Mora-Summonte!



Living in the Past

In true Gemini eclectic fashion, I read and write in many genres. A little children’s. A little contemporary. I dabbled with some romance that didn’t go too far. I plotted out a mystery – or rather, started plotting out a mystery. Lots of nonfiction and magazine articles get their share of keyboard time. But my all-time favorite genre? The one that sings its siren song, luring me to its shores?

Historical fiction. The days of the past. The eras long gone. Those are the stories that I long to tell.

Sometimes an old vintage photograph kicks off the tale. Many times an old postcard. A name inscribed on the flyleaf of a hundred year old book. Sometimes it’s simply touching an embroidered piece that starts the story unraveling. I touch the threads that an unknown woman touched fifty, eighty, or a hundred years ago. My mind drifts and I wonder…Who made this? What was she like? What were her hopes and dreams? What was her life like?

That’s all it takes. In a flash I’m living in the past. I dropped into 1850, or 1910, or 1934.

Who needs Marty McFly and his time-traveling DeLorean? All I need to teleport me to another time is a dish, a cookbook, a photograph, or some other memorabilia that began its life many years before I drew my first breath.


Any other historical fiction authors here? In April I started a weekly newsletter – Pages of the Past – celebrating historical fiction. Each week I have an author spotlight on a historical fiction author, along with a Reading Roundup of 2-3 books from different eras. If you’re an author and are interested in being interviewed for an author spotlight, email me at texastrishafaye@yahoo.com. Right now, I’m scheduling authors for July and August. Also, if you have any books you’d like featured, email me and let me know and I’ll get it scheduled into the next newsletter for that era.

If you’d like to take a look to see if you’re interested, here’s a link to the May 31st newsletter.


Words are Another Medium

Today I’m writing for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s blog hop. The first Wednesday of each month, we write in inspiration to a question posed by the group’s administrators. We don’t need to write in response to the question posed, but I like to use their query as the springboard for the monthly post.

This month the OPTIONAL IWSG Day Question is: Besides writing, what other creative outlets do you have?


Words are Another Medium

Creativity has been part of my life for as long as I remember. Well, at least as early as sixth grade, when my mom taught me to knit and crochet. Then came sewing – on an old treadle sewing machine that my dad bought at an auction in Indiana for just a few dollars. Home Ec classes refined my sewing techniques and were followed with embroidery and some novice attempts at quilting.

iswg1.jpgThese early creative attempts with fabrics and yarns are probably why my favorite pursuits are in the fiber arts area. Several years of weaving classes plunged me further into the field of fibers and weaving soon turned to spinning, dyeing, and felting.

But, I’m a Gemini and I can’t do just one thing. So there’s also papermaking and altered books. These are even more fun with I can combine yarns and weavings into completed projects.


But…behind Door C is glass! One glass fusing class was all it took and I had to get my own small kiln. What to make, what to make? Pendants? Buttons? Tiles? So much glass – so little time. And if I don’t feel like firing up the kiln, cold glass projects – like mosaic work – are satisfying too.


And then there was the ‘Polymer Clay Phase’. More earrings to make. Pens to cover. Journal covers to create. Jars and tins to embellish. So many ideas and ways to play with this versatile medium.

But lately, I haven’t been spending much time in these creative avenues. I’ve been too busy crafting with another medium – words.

Writing seems more cerebral. It doesn’t seem to qualify as a creative pursuit. But it is. Writing is creativity expressed in another vein. Instead of acrylic paints, I’m using words to paint the canvas. The techniques are much the same – learning, crafting, and perfecting the skills. The editing is like sculpting with clay. Trim a little here. Pinch off this. Smooth this out. And soon, a completed project is ready and done. Only this one doesn’t hang on a wall, or sit on a mantle. This one is a stack of printed papers or a bound book. All the work of the same muse – Artistic Imagination.



Just an Innocent Question


Today I’m writing for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s blog hop. The first Wednesday of each month, we write in inspiration to a question posed by the group’s administrators. We don’t need to write in response to the question posed, but I like to use their query as the springboard for the monthly post.

This Co-Hosts this month are: Patricia Lynne, Lisa Buie-Collard, Kim Lajevardi, and Fundy Blue!

This month the OPTIONAL IWSG Day Question is: What are your favorite and least favorite questions people ask you about your writing?


Just an Innocent Question

I was stumped on this month’s topic at first. I couldn’t think of a favorite or least favorite question about my writing. It turns out that I do have a least favorite question. Oddly enough, it usually comes from other writers. But what’s strange is that the question itself isn’t annoying – it’s my response to the question that gives me thought.

“What do you write?”

My face flushes. My tongues wraps around itself. My response is a garbled mess. I’m a writer. I work with words. You’d think that words would flow effortlessly from my lips.

Not so.

I stammer and become almost incoherent.


Obviously not everything. I don’t write horror. I don’t write erotica. I don’t write dystopian tales. I don’t write….

But, the list that I do write is even longer. Fiction. Nonfiction. Magazine articles. Blogs. Short stories. Novels. Children’s stories. Historical fiction and vintage tales. Contemporary fiction. Essays. Memoir. Family stories. And in my spare time, I’m dabbling with some middle-grade stories and plotting out my first cozy mystery.

I can’t imagine writing in just one genre or for one market. My crafting is all over the board. I weave, spin, sew, dye, knit (a very little), crochet, fuse glass, mosaic, make paper, garden, craft with garden products… I rescue cats and have had a menagerie of different animals over the years, including turtles, snakes, a chameleon, four llamas, turkeys, chickens, goats, a sheep… I read all over the board. (Except for horror. Stephen King’s fault. My son was two years old when I read Pet Cemetery and his rendering of the little boy’s death gave me nightmares for weeks.) My musical interests are all over the board, depending on the day and the mood. Metallica, Led Zeppelin, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Garth Brooks, Clint Black, Rammstein, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Glen Miller, Billie Holliday, Ella Fitzgerald, Patsy Cline, Tom Jones, Enya, with some occasional Vivaldi or Pachelbel…

I’d be bored if I only had one interest or activity. So too, does my writing reflect my eclectic interests. I’d be bored to tears if I had a one or two-word answer to the question.

I want to retort back, “Don’t try to define me by what I write.”

Truthfully, they’re truly not trying to pigeon-hole me. They’re making conversation and trying to find some common ground.

So why do I get so defensive?

I think because at times I feel unfocused with my writing. I want to write so many things, try to do too much at the same time, and feel like I’m spinning out of control, not accomplishing what I want to in any one avenue. And I don’t like having someone else bring that to light – even if done unintentionally.

I also don’t like the feeling of being unprepared, lacking a coherent response to a legitimate question.

Since this is New Year’s Day as I write this, the first day of 2019, it’s the perfect time to reassess what I’m doing in order to mitigate the feeling of being unfocused and darting in a multitude of directions. It’s a good time to sit down and pick one major goal for each month to focus on. If the major goal is finishing up a historical short story collection, there will still be other minor stepping stones throughout the month, such as a children’s short story that needs to be submitted, or a query for a nonfiction magazine article. But similar to the thought of having a ‘Word for the Year’, I’ll have a ‘Focus for the Month’ and by doing this I can touch on several different bases throughout the year and feel I’ve made significant progress on each path.

As for the other problem, the one of not knowing what to say, that solution is easy. With our books, the experts recommend that we develop an elevator pitch for each one – one or two sentences that convey the essence of the book in a quick and easily practiced answer. That’s what I need to do here. Work on my elevator pitch. Develop an answer that delivers the information I want to share, in a quick soundbite that I can practice and have ready for the next time I’m asked.

Now that I can celebrate my first officially written 821 words of 2019, I’m off to go polish up a short pitch!

Only Five?


Today I’m writing for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s blog hop. The first Wednesday of each month, we write in inspiration to a question posed by the group’s administrators. We don’t need to write in response to the question posed, but I like to use their query as the springboard for the monthly post.

This Co-Hosts this month are: J.H. Moncrieff, Tonja Drecker , Patsy Collins, and Chrys Fey!

This month the OPTIONAL IWSG Day Question is: What are five objects we’d find in your writing space?

Only Five?

Oh goodness, Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) – you ask about five objects you’d find in my writing space? Only five? Since my writing room doubles as a crafting room also, I could list more like five hundred objects. Although I could see where most people would either quit reading or fall asleep – at least by item Number 47. So perhaps five is a nicer number to play with. Besides, after so many notebooks, paperclips, pens and staplers we’d all be snoozing, including myself. Many writers will probably have what I’ve listed first, but probably not the other four writing accessories.

IMG_0685[1].JPGStack of query and submission ideas

Many writers will have this item, a supply of possibilities to send query letters or essays to, or other publishing options to pursue. Although many may have a more organized approach, I am a pile kind of person. I have a notebook – two of them – that are supposed to hold these possible markets. Three years later the notebooks are gathering dust in a corner and the pile system is entrenched in place. And growing. I think for every one market I query or submit to, three or four other markets replace the one that’s gone.

IMG_0687[1].JPGA bunch of carrots

A few years ago, after I’d started writing in earnest, I had a dream. I was in the backyard with bushel baskets standing in front of four small garden plots. I was harvesting carrots. Two of the plots had a meager harvest, one had decent harvest, and one plot produced a bountiful carrot harvest. The bushel baskets on that one were overflowing with produce. I realized that with my writing I’m planting carrots. I’m planting the seeds of future harvest. Some seeds may not grow very well, giving me few carrots. Other crops may produce abundant supplies of the golden vegetable. I purchased some carrots from the local craft store to remind me that my words are simply planting seeds for future crops. I may not see immediate results. And the results will vary from scanty to plentiful. I just need to keep planting my carrots.

IMG_0686[1].JPGPieces of the past

Shopping malls don’t tempt me. Not in the least. I can live the rest of my life without going to another one. But antique stores…they’re my catnip. I adore pieces from the past and my home is filled with many family heirlooms and treasures gleaned from visiting antique stores in many different states. The ‘curtain’ in the window in front of my desk is a 1930’s quilt top, completely hand stitched and picked up for a pittance at a yard sale – the same one where I bought a set of 30 1934 quilt squares that I’ve since taken to a museum in Iowa. Handstitched dish clothes from the same era, vintage books, antique pottery, Depression glass, vintage bottles…they’re in here too, adoring the shelves along with books filling five book cases.

Wind chimes

Yes, wind chimes. A whole window full of them. Hey, if I put them outside I’d rarely see them. I spend much more time at my desk now than I do in the garden. So I installed a dowel in front of the window and hung a dozen wind chimes.

IMG_E0602[1].JPGTator Tot

Tator Tot is the newest addition to my writing space. My writing/craft room used to be (notice the used to part?) the only cat-free room in the house. We’d been watching one of the feral kittens outside for several weeks. One was extremely lethargic and listless. It got worse. We picked it up one day and its gums were so pale they were white. A month ago we made an appointment at the vets and brought it inside. Not knowing if it was sick or not, we couldn’t have it in the main part of the house with the others. So in my room it came. Tator Tot turned out to be a little boy and was extremely anemic, had roundworms, and was severely underweight. (1 pound when he should have been 2-2 ½ pounds) The vet said he probably wouldn’t have lasted another few days, and was doubtful if he’d even make it now. He made it and a month later is a little demon, never still until he wears himself out and plops down, now exhausted from hours of play instead of simply no energy.

So if my writing’s slowed down a bit over the past month, I’ll blame it all on Tator Tot. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll still keep him for Item Number Five in my writing space. Now…if I can only figure out how to have him help me harvest a few carrots.


There’s Writing and There’s Writing


Today I’m writing for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s blog hop. The first Wednesday of each month, we write in inspiration to a question posed by the group’s administrators. We don’t need to write in response to the question posed, but I like to use their query as the springboard for the monthly post.

This month we were asked, ‘How do major life events affect your writing? Has writing ever helped you through something?’

open book.jpg

There’s Writing and There’s Writing

First off, we’ll answer the easy one. How do major life events affect my writing? Pretty much, if they don’t merely slow my writing, they usually bring it to a screeching halt. It seems that I have a limited reservoir of energy. I can use it writing – or I can use it dealing with major issues. I don’t always have the resources to do both.

Has writing ever helped me through something? Yes. And, no. There’s two types of writing in my world. Journaling, which is private and therapeutic. And writing for the public eye, such as books, short stories, articles, and blogs.

Journaling helps me through things. But that isn’t writing that I share with anyone else. Now, later on, after that difficult part of life has passed, then I may use some of that for fodder for the public writing. For instance, in 2010 I had a Sudden Cardiac Arrest. My heart stopped beating on an airplane. That incident took me about two weeks to even come to grips with what had happened, let alone dealing with all the associated emotions that arose. Did my journal get a work out that year! Now, once the intensity of the moment subsided and life stabilized back to a routine (and I’m talking a few years here), then I began publicly writing about it. Several times I’ve even excerpted short snippets from my actual journal, but only in short selected sections.

But for me, I need a lot of processing time between the actual event and publicly writing about it. Sometimes I even need this transition period to even be able to talk about it with someone else. But, that’s me. I’m usually a private person and don’t easily show others the open shards of my heart. So I’ll show you some of my writing – the other – that’s tucked away on a shelf to rarely see the light of day. I guess it just goes to show that not all writers are open books.


Check out more Insecure Writer’s Support Group posts here.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise #IWSG


Today I’m writing for the Insecure Writer’s Support Group’s blog hop. The first Wednesday of each month, we write in inspiration to a question posed by the group’s administrators. If we want to. We don’t need to write in response to the question posed, but I like to use their query as the springboard for the monthly post.

This month we were asked, ‘Have you ever surprised yourself with your writing?’


Surprise, Surprise, Surprise!


I’d love to share a story about when I surprised myself by perfectly writing a first draft – something lyrical and magical that flowed from my fingertips and required not a bit of editing. (Yeah, that would be a surprise, wouldn’t it?)

Instead, today I write of another type of surprise. But, it turns out not to be as bad as I initially thought.

A few weeks ago, I submitted a query about a guest post for another author’s blog – an author I respect greatly and look up to as a role model. She accepted the proposed blog (Yay!) and proceeded to ask a question about a particular magazine that I’d been published in. For the sake of anonymity, let’s call it Magazine XYZ. She was considering submitting a piece to them and was curious about how they were to work with.

I pulled out my spreadsheet and checked dates. I replied with the dates I submitted the article, when it was accepted, and when I was paid. There wasn’t any back and forth about the piece. It was a simple acceptance, I cashed the check and was happy. All was easy and effortless.

And then the next question appeared in my inbox. How much did they edit what I’d sent?

Hmmmm – good question. I had no idea.

When I first started my writing career, I often compared what I sent with the final product. I wanted to see where edits had been made and how they improved the story. It gave me a good feel for weak points I could improve upon and ways to strengthen future stories.

Several years earlier, what prompted me to compare versions was when I read a short children’s story and I knew that I hadn’t written those particular words. When the story posted, I went to read it, anxious to see my work online. I forget the short phrase that was used, but it was something so foreign to me I knew I’d never even thought this particular phrase, let alone wrote it. Sure enough, a whole paragraph had been added – all completely new with not a spec of my own words in it. But, that was okay. I still happily transferred the small amount of money that appeared in my PayPal account and went on writing.

Now, curious about Magazine XYZ, I pulled out my complimentary print copy and reread the final product. All appeared well. Nothing seemed too foreign or out of place.

Then…I opened up the document I’d submitted to the Editor. Expecting to find some minor changes, words added or words deleted, I felt very confused as I began reading the original copy. Nothing was matching up. Oh, some paragraphs and wording was the same but was in nowhere near the same order it had been sent. Huge major portions appeared in the final cut that didn’t show up anywhere on my submitted piece. It was familiar copy to me. It didn’t seem out of place. It turned out the additional information on the subject was taken from my blog.

Looking at the two side by side, I barely recognized the published article as what I’d sent.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The final article was far superior to what I’d sent. In fact, when I looked at what I’d so proudly sent off, I cringed in embarrassment. When I examined what I wrote, I shook my head in amazement – or should I say surprise?

I’m happy they did such an intensive editing job on that particular article. There is no argument whatsoever that what they printed was a top-notch quality product. It was far better than the words I’d labored over for so many days.

I had two surprises that day. The first was my astonishment when I realized the extensive amount of editing that had happened. And while I won’t be showing anyone the original piece, I’m happy to say that the second surprise was realizing how much my writing has improved in the last two years. No, I’m still not capable of writing that elusive, perfect first draft. There’s still a lot of room to learn and improve more. But for today, while honoring the insecure writer in myself, I will embrace the recognition that my craft is improving. I’m better than I was yesterday. I’m better than I was last week. And, I’m certainly better than I was two years ago!


Check out more Insecure Writer’s Support Group posts here.

When Dreams Almost Disappear #IWSG

This post is part of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group blog hop. The first Wednesday of every month is Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling.

The question for June is:
Did you ever say “I quit”? If so, what happened to make you come back to writing?


I don’t know if “I quit” were the words that formed in my brain one June afternoon two years ago. I think the exact words were more along the lines of “I’ve failed, I’m a big fat loser, and I have to give up on my dream.”

I’d been working towards quitting my retail job to write full time. It had taken some time, and I thought I was prepared. We paid off the house the year before, so the monthly expenses I needed to pay for were lower than they’d ever been. While I didn’t have a huge amount in the savings account, it would cover three months of bills, should I need it. Additionally, the vacation and time accrued from my employer would cover several more months.

build itBesides, on the premise of the movie, Field of Dreams, I was going to build it and they’d come.

The first major obstacle hit me full force before I’d gotten out of the building. Following my final punch-out, carrying an armload of goodbye goodies from my coworkers, I stopped in my manager’s office to say goodbye. And then, in this moment when it was too late to change anything, he informed me that I’d get my vacation hours…but I wouldn’t get any of the PPTO time accrued. He’d had three weeks to let me know this and hadn’t thought to mention it?

I was livid. I was so angry I couldn’t start the car and drive right away. I had to sit there and cool my raging boil to a simmer. That was a thousand dollars I’d kissed goodbye. Two and a half months of bill money. Poof! Disappeared. Never to be seen again.

That’s all right. I’ll make it. This is just one setback.

And then, in April, the car died. That small savings account? Now, it too was gone.

By May I knew that I’d ‘built it’…but they weren’t coming.

Oh, I’d gotten a few small acceptances here and there. But it wasn’t enough to give me the freedom to sit at home and spend my days following my writing dream.

I started looking for a part time job. Without any success. When I saw that my eye doctor was hiring – for full time – I applied. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to work full time, especially there. I’d been in that office. I’d seen the office girls in action. I knew that at the rate they ran, and with the days that stretched to seven o’clock in the evening, I’d come home exhausted and wouldn’t have the energy to write.

When the office called me to come in and work a two-day trial period, which they were doing with all the applicants, to see who would be the best fit for the office…I lost it.

I threw myself across the bed and bawled. And kept bawling.

I’d tried. I’d failed. I saw this as the total loss of my dream.

What was worse was this brain of mine wouldn’t allow me to only view this one instance that I was seeing as a failure. It had to bring up every single failure it could remember – from my lifetime! I hadn’t just tried one thing and failed. I was a failure. I was a loser. I couldn’t do anything right.

I sobbed until I was drained. Then, I fed the cats and went to bed early.

The next morning I got up. What do writers do? Even loser-writers? We write about it. I sat in front of my laptop and poured my heart out. For hours. I typed and pounded the keyboard. I should have just slashed a vein and let it run on the computer. It would have been easier.

Now, two years later, I look back and almost laugh at myself.

I worked two days for my eye doctor and came home with $140 check. I didn’t end up getting the job. (Whew! Thank you, Lord!) And I kept going. I did end up getting a part-time job, which I still have. I work for ‘them’ in the morning, which pays the bills, and I come home and work ‘for me’ in the afternoon as I build my dream.

I didn’t officially quit. But it was close. I was so close to that quitting edge that I felt like I’d fall off the precipice and never return. Until I reminded myself that some days I’m my own worst enemy and I shoved that negative, whiny creature back in a time-out box so I could carry on about my business – that of following my dream.


You can find Trisha Faye here:

Trisha Faye Facebook Author Page

Writer’s Zen Facebook Page


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