I believe that a “perfect career is something that emerges from within you. When you are aligned with the truth within yourself, then you magnetize people and circumstances which align with that truth.” (Marianne Williamson)
I am a writer therefore, I write…
At times I hesitate to call myself this and yet, it truly is what I am. I sit with friends or at a meeting, driving by myself or observing strangers, and I am inspired to write about what I hear, see and feel around me, and what I think about.
The other day, and while at a meeting, I heard someone state something that was quite upsetting to her, and immediately it became a funny story expanding in my mind and I began to laugh. (I really need to keep that in check.)
I am grateful that my husband supports me in writing because it is not something I do for a wage, and at times is all consuming.
I grew up in a household that honoured reading, dreaming and other artistic activities. If I was sitting and writing, I would never have been asked to do a chore. In my family, creative pursuits were of the highest value, so it isn’t surprising that at 51 years of age, I desire to spend my time on these sorts of interests.
It takes great discipline on the part of the creator to stick with a project and continue on and it isn’t easy work. I write from my heart, which can be difficult. Sometimes it is a carefree joyful experience and at other times it is distressing and challenging.
About six years ago when I went back to University to complete my Masters degree, I discovered how I write best. I had spent my life writing on scraps of paper wherever I happened to be and transferred those to little journals and then began a process of editing and over-editing until I would just give up on a piece. Currently, I treat it like a full-time job, and as soon as my teens leave for school in the morning, clad in my housecoat, I sit down at my desktop to write, and I write freely, setting and resetting a timer so that I know how long I have been here. I only allow myself one editing day and one research day a week. I write for three morning blocks of time, and then I stop, exercise, meditate, shower, get dressed and sit down to write some more. I typically see lunch as an intrusion in my day, unless I am sitting in frustration or blankness. The minute my teens arrive home after school, I am jolted into another reality, seemingly without the ability to step back into my writing self. Their energy is so grand and fills all of the space in my life that I am unable to write while they are physically present.
And that’s okay.
Actually it is more than okay, because I have been gifted the entire school day to sit and work at this job that I love, with the intent that my writing genuinely unfold from my being in the way that all of our work is intended to do so.
I am writer, therefore I write…