Hope For Tomorrow
Where did January go? I blinked, I guess, because it has flown by. My writing is not sailing as I'd hoped, but I'm excited about a new project I've begun. In addition, I am determined to submit more work. If I don't send it out, no one can buy it, right? So, here go partials of partials and partials of complete manuscripts whisked off to the post office. In about a thousand months, perhaps I'll get editor's replies. (They are sloooow to reply, aren't they?)
In the meantime, personal family crises are being managed (some better than others), friends and I rally around our friends in crisis/transition, and life goes on. We authors are, for the most part, a flexible and supportive group. Bad things happen and we deal with them in the best way we can--choosing some of them for story fodder--and helping our fellow authors do the same. I'm reminded of the words of a close friend who died years ago and left two small sons. As if she had a premonition of her death, she said, "I may not have always done the right thing, but I have always done what I thought was the right thing at that moment. And that's what I want my sons to remember."
So, each of us continues, trying to do the right thing, hopeful she's interpreted the situation well--but moving on regardless. And this applies to writing and to life. For what is writing but a representation of life from our observations, imaginations, and aspirations. We write stories that might have been, of frightening situations we're grateful existed only in our imaginations, and--for me--most often we write life the way it should have been. Hope for the future. That's what I want my books to offer: hope that no matter how bad things look today, there's the promise that--with hard work and a little luck--things will all work out tomorrow. Or at least a few tomorrows away.
In the meantime, personal family crises are being managed (some better than others), friends and I rally around our friends in crisis/transition, and life goes on. We authors are, for the most part, a flexible and supportive group. Bad things happen and we deal with them in the best way we can--choosing some of them for story fodder--and helping our fellow authors do the same. I'm reminded of the words of a close friend who died years ago and left two small sons. As if she had a premonition of her death, she said, "I may not have always done the right thing, but I have always done what I thought was the right thing at that moment. And that's what I want my sons to remember."
So, each of us continues, trying to do the right thing, hopeful she's interpreted the situation well--but moving on regardless. And this applies to writing and to life. For what is writing but a representation of life from our observations, imaginations, and aspirations. We write stories that might have been, of frightening situations we're grateful existed only in our imaginations, and--for me--most often we write life the way it should have been. Hope for the future. That's what I want my books to offer: hope that no matter how bad things look today, there's the promise that--with hard work and a little luck--things will all work out tomorrow. Or at least a few tomorrows away.
