On the Brink
I've been on the brink before. On the brink of despair. On the brink of change. On the brink of tearing my hair out. I've been on the brink for lots of reasons.
This year though, I'm on the brink of something different, something exciting, something new.
I'm on the brink of success.
Commercial success? Nope, not yet.
Monetary success? Nope, not yet either, although I suspect both of these will follow in time.
No, I'm on the brink of personal success.
I judge personal success in one's ability to structure one's life to suit one's passions and goals.
I truly believe this year this is going to happen.
For some time now I have played with the idea that I want to be a writer. I've toyed with calling myself a writer - always being careful to stipulate that I am a writer, not an author. Authors actually have sold their books, while a writer is still writing them.
It's something I've been drawn to, like that moth that cannot resist the oncoming headlights I've felt myself being blindly drawn to this pursuit. Yes, I fear the splatt that sometimes happens when there is a windscreen right behind the headlights, but it's been something totally irresistable all the same.
Last year in November was my annual novel writing competition. I chose to do a surprise for Grubblet, my eldest daughter. I had written a tribute to my mother in late September, telling a couple of stories from her youth in Sydney. Grubblet had remarked to me that it was good to hear those stories as I had never told her any of the family tales. How I could have been so remiss, I do not know, but it appears I was.
So in November I set out to remedy that. I used Nanowrimo to write out my family history, calling the book, 'The Stories I Never Told' and dedicating it to Grubblet. Not only did I complete the book - which comprised of all the stories from our ancestors in Cornwall way back in the 1500's right up to the story of my childhood and adult life right up to today - but I completed it in NINETEEN DAYS!!
I then set about editing it and formatting it for printing. Finally on the 29 November I submitted it to a local academic binding agency and had it professionally bound.
No, it is not for sale in any shops. By arranging to have it bound myself it is called 'self-publishing' and can be expensive. It is certainly not the way to go if one wants to make a living from writing.
However, for the purpose of a family history with limited numbers to be bound (I did one for my brother and da Bird as well as one for ourselves as well) then it is still a very satisfying thing to do.
And yes, Grubblet loved her surprise.
However, my impulsive decision to write and bind a book for her taught me something else. It taught me I am not playing at this. I am a writer.
When I remember the way I felt when I first saw this:
...the title with my name under it, it still takes my breath away. The feeling at the time was better than the best sex I have EVER had - and trust me, I've had some pretty damn hot sex in my time!
It was just indescribable.
If ever I doubted where my passion lay those doubts were laid to rest that day. Nothing in my life has ever made me feel like that.
Seeing my efforts, my scribblings on the word doc on my pc transformed into a for real serious official bona fide book is just utterly amazing and has been incredibly encouraging for me as a writer.
What's more, I have had some really terrific feed back from others who have read it. Tygrr, who always reads before bed of a morning began complaining to me when she started to read it before bed. Usually she's in bed by 10am, and reads til about 11am and then goes to sleep. Once she began reading my book she said she wasn't getting to bed til after 12.30 most days and was cussing at me saying it was all my fault!
Well, as a writer, I take that as a compliment that she could not put my book down.
I sent a copy to my brother. The day he began reading it he was on the phone or texting me constantly, initially to express to me his surprise that his sister was so articulate in how she wrote, and to remark on how entertaining it was to read. His wife told me tonight that he finished it in three days and was often chuckling at the stories as he read them.
While admittedly they are not professional critics still, I consider that if I can make a family history (tradtionally he was born then, she was born then, they got married in this year, had these kids and died then) into something unputdownable, then I am doing pretty good.
The final thing that convinced me utterly that I cannot live without writing was yesterday when Grubblet and her family and Krissy went to the zoo. My bronchitis has been very reluctant to clear so as it was also going to be 38C I decided a nice airconditioned cafe in the city with a pen and paper might be the way to go for me.
So, having deposited my family at the zoo, I toddled up to Rundle Street with a folder with printed out information and research about my fantasy trilogy under my arm. I spent four hours in that cafe contentedly working on my plot outline for the trilogy, teasing out some knotty problems I have had and finally making such good progress with it that I cannot wait to resume writing once school resumes later this month. I left that cafe absolutely high as a kite, feeling as I imagine a druggie would who has gotten their fix.
So, yeah, I feel this year at last I am on the brink of personal success.
I know what I want and I know I can do it.
It is an utterly fantastic feeling.
And you know, I owe so much of it to Grubblet. If she hadn't asked about the stories I hadn't told her as a child I would never have thought to challenge myself with writing my family history and making it into a book for her. My impulse to give a gift to her has given a huge one to me in return.
But then, that's how gifts and love are supposed to work after all.
2008, methinks, is going to be a very interesting year.
Red.
This year though, I'm on the brink of something different, something exciting, something new.
I'm on the brink of success.
Commercial success? Nope, not yet.
Monetary success? Nope, not yet either, although I suspect both of these will follow in time.
No, I'm on the brink of personal success.
I judge personal success in one's ability to structure one's life to suit one's passions and goals.
I truly believe this year this is going to happen.
For some time now I have played with the idea that I want to be a writer. I've toyed with calling myself a writer - always being careful to stipulate that I am a writer, not an author. Authors actually have sold their books, while a writer is still writing them.
It's something I've been drawn to, like that moth that cannot resist the oncoming headlights I've felt myself being blindly drawn to this pursuit. Yes, I fear the splatt that sometimes happens when there is a windscreen right behind the headlights, but it's been something totally irresistable all the same.
Last year in November was my annual novel writing competition. I chose to do a surprise for Grubblet, my eldest daughter. I had written a tribute to my mother in late September, telling a couple of stories from her youth in Sydney. Grubblet had remarked to me that it was good to hear those stories as I had never told her any of the family tales. How I could have been so remiss, I do not know, but it appears I was.
So in November I set out to remedy that. I used Nanowrimo to write out my family history, calling the book, 'The Stories I Never Told' and dedicating it to Grubblet. Not only did I complete the book - which comprised of all the stories from our ancestors in Cornwall way back in the 1500's right up to the story of my childhood and adult life right up to today - but I completed it in NINETEEN DAYS!!
I then set about editing it and formatting it for printing. Finally on the 29 November I submitted it to a local academic binding agency and had it professionally bound.
No, it is not for sale in any shops. By arranging to have it bound myself it is called 'self-publishing' and can be expensive. It is certainly not the way to go if one wants to make a living from writing.
However, for the purpose of a family history with limited numbers to be bound (I did one for my brother and da Bird as well as one for ourselves as well) then it is still a very satisfying thing to do.
And yes, Grubblet loved her surprise.
However, my impulsive decision to write and bind a book for her taught me something else. It taught me I am not playing at this. I am a writer.
When I remember the way I felt when I first saw this:
...the title with my name under it, it still takes my breath away. The feeling at the time was better than the best sex I have EVER had - and trust me, I've had some pretty damn hot sex in my time!
It was just indescribable.
If ever I doubted where my passion lay those doubts were laid to rest that day. Nothing in my life has ever made me feel like that.
Seeing my efforts, my scribblings on the word doc on my pc transformed into a for real serious official bona fide book is just utterly amazing and has been incredibly encouraging for me as a writer.
What's more, I have had some really terrific feed back from others who have read it. Tygrr, who always reads before bed of a morning began complaining to me when she started to read it before bed. Usually she's in bed by 10am, and reads til about 11am and then goes to sleep. Once she began reading my book she said she wasn't getting to bed til after 12.30 most days and was cussing at me saying it was all my fault!
Well, as a writer, I take that as a compliment that she could not put my book down.
I sent a copy to my brother. The day he began reading it he was on the phone or texting me constantly, initially to express to me his surprise that his sister was so articulate in how she wrote, and to remark on how entertaining it was to read. His wife told me tonight that he finished it in three days and was often chuckling at the stories as he read them.
While admittedly they are not professional critics still, I consider that if I can make a family history (tradtionally he was born then, she was born then, they got married in this year, had these kids and died then) into something unputdownable, then I am doing pretty good.
The final thing that convinced me utterly that I cannot live without writing was yesterday when Grubblet and her family and Krissy went to the zoo. My bronchitis has been very reluctant to clear so as it was also going to be 38C I decided a nice airconditioned cafe in the city with a pen and paper might be the way to go for me.
So, having deposited my family at the zoo, I toddled up to Rundle Street with a folder with printed out information and research about my fantasy trilogy under my arm. I spent four hours in that cafe contentedly working on my plot outline for the trilogy, teasing out some knotty problems I have had and finally making such good progress with it that I cannot wait to resume writing once school resumes later this month. I left that cafe absolutely high as a kite, feeling as I imagine a druggie would who has gotten their fix.
So, yeah, I feel this year at last I am on the brink of personal success.
I know what I want and I know I can do it.
It is an utterly fantastic feeling.
And you know, I owe so much of it to Grubblet. If she hadn't asked about the stories I hadn't told her as a child I would never have thought to challenge myself with writing my family history and making it into a book for her. My impulse to give a gift to her has given a huge one to me in return.
But then, that's how gifts and love are supposed to work after all.
2008, methinks, is going to be a very interesting year.
Red.