Tuesday, January 02, 2007

I've Lost My Way


Recently, I realized I’ve lost my way. No. I’m not talking about the Hansel and Gretel kind of lost. I had forgotten why I continued to send manuscripts that were rejected time and time again. I started to doubt my decisions in my writing. Even began to doubt that I had what it took to become published.

But during the holidays it all came back to me. I was sitting at a dinning room table listening to my dad tell us about his childhood memories and the crazy people he met through the years. I have to tell you, no one can write fiction as good as the REAL world my dad had lived in during the forties and fifties. Heck, even the sixties and seventies were something to keep your mouth hanging open.

It’s through my dad and his that I inherited the need to read everything I come across (cereal boxes, labels on jars, etc.), and reciting tales of my childhood can at times sound like a William Faulkner novel.

So with the help of my dad, I found my way back to understanding why I want to be published. I have too many stories to tell to let them sit in a dusty box under my bed or remain in my head. It’s in my blood. I write for my dad and his dad and my kids who enjoy my stories as much I do. I just feel that others out there would enjoy them, too.

Besides, Dad said he would record all his stories for me since I was the writer in the family. The writer. Gee. Where's a handkerchief when you need one?

How about you? Why do you write? What makes you want to write?

4 comments:

jennifer echols said...

Writing for me is like working the cryptoquote and the crossword and, recently, the sudoku for my mom. It's a mental puzzle that you set up for yourself and then get to work. It's FUN!

Gaill said...

I write because I have to write. When I'm restless and bored and the movie du jour isn't keeping my attention, I pick up pen and paper and I write. I write whatever comes to mind. I write my angst, I write my worries, I write the screaming I am refraining from screaming at my husband. Or my son.
When I write what's in my head it usually isn't romance, or even something worth trying to get published. Most of the time it is a horror for it to be inside me, let alone on paper. But the bottom line is this: I am a writer. I write my worries, my fears; I write my prayers. I write because I am compelled to write. To purposely write something that someone else might read is pretty frightening for me, but I do it. Not a lot of people have read anything I've written, but as my trust grows, I am sharing more of my writing with others. Not a fault of anyone but me and my own anxieties. I throw my journals away because I don't want to hurt someone who shouldn't be reading it to begin with, but might inadvertantly do so. Wow! I sound like a real mess, don't I? The bottom line is that I am a writer. I will be published one day, and I think that day is coming pretty soon. I have the support of people I never expected to have and because of it I can put the scenes in my head to paper and not worry about what happens next. Except, I have to say, that when Dianna Love Snell tells you she enjoys your writing style, you would have to be a fool to ignore that you might be where you are supposed to be. And I try hard not to be a fool!

Deborah Matthews said...

I've always been an avid reader and I can remember in my 20s thinking I'd like to write a book, but never thought to try it. In my 20s I wrote some poetry. When a senior in high school, I loved the research paper we had to research and write.

But just call me a philistine. I now write because I want to supplement my retirement income. And I'm not sure why so many people think that's a bad thing.

Deborah Matthews said...

Let me add that I've had stories running through my head like movies for as long as I can remember, but I never wrote them down.