For one moment, one that lasted for a heartbeat… maybe two … I contemplated yesterday quitting my writing. To give up, throw in the towel, to say enough trying, it’s time to move on. I was in Barnes and Nobles, looking through their puzzles when it hit. It’s crystalized, that one moment. Not sure why that moment hit. I guess I was tired, maybe feeling as if I’m at the end of a long, rocky, stressful road.
Perhaps it was the realization that I’m going back into work today to do graphics instead of staying home while the kids are in school to write. Perhaps it was the knowledge that I’ve been writing for 18 years and nothing to show for it except hopeful rejections and boisterous words from friends.
I’m not sure.
I am sure that approximately 2 hours later on the one hour drive back home (don’t ask) my mother-in-law and I were talking about how long it takes to write a book. At which point I took her through the whole process. Brainstorm, write, edit, cry, hope, agonize, wait on pins and needles, only to do it all over again with the next story that flutters through my brain. I told her about Memory Lane and in doing so realized that I finished the first draft in ’07, finished the 5th draft in ’10 and it’s still not published.
At which point I got mad and depressed. Is it really worth all this heartache I wonder? Is it worth the tears and the feeling as if your soul is ripped open by honest questions of interest?
One heartbeat, even if it passes, stays for a while to remind you that you did experience that one moment of contemplation that is followed by the fear of what happens the next time if it lasts longer than that moment.