Keep the Change!

Thought for the day: In everyone's life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being.We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirits. [Albert Schweitzer]

Yep, it's that time again. Welcome to this month's edition of the Insecure Writer's Support Group meeting... er, virtual meeting, that is. Today, writers all over the world will be posting about the ups and downs, the highs and lows, the ins and outs... of writing. We'll celebrate... we'll complain... we'll commiserate and help rekindle those inner spirits. Whatever we need, this is the place to find it. Humble thanks and a jolly tip of the hat go to Alex Cavanaugh, our fearless ninja leader and the originator of this fine group, and to all of the other fine folks who've worked so hard to make it the huge success it is today. If you'd like to join (It's FREE!) or would like to read some of the other posts, please go HERE

On the writing front, progress has been glacially slow lately. Sales of my new book have been anemic; and reviews, practically non-existent. (sigh) Makes it a tad more difficult to stay focused and maintain enthusiasm about writing books two and three. But fear not. My enthusiasm will return. It always does. Now if only my damned muse would return from vacation...

Let's move right on to this month's question, shall we?

What are your ultimate writing goals, and how have they changed over time (if at all)?

When I was a senior in high school... you know, back in the Dark Ages... I contributed to and helped edit the school's literary magazine. After all these years, I still remember a poem my friend Bruce Troup wrote for it:

Change is never constant;

Constance never changes.

But all things change constantly.

Simple, yet profound, right? I guess that's why it's stuck with me for so long. 

Anyhow, to answer the question, of course my writing goals have changed. I used to think I was destined to be a great writer. Before I learned how to read, I made up the words and pretended to read books out loud. In second grade, a test we took to determine our potential career path (I kid you not!) said I'd be an author... and I believed it. In the summers, I concocted serialized fairy tales, and would sit in the shade of a tree and tell them to a group of neighborhood kids several afternoons a week. In fifth grade, filled with self-confidence, I entered an American Legion essay contest about Brotherhood...

[source: morguefile]

...and I LOST.

Talk about being one deflated puppy. Not even an Honorable Mention! I was crushed, because I'd worked so hard on that essay, and I thought it was so good...

PBBBBT! (That's the sound of my adolescent ego deflating.) Who was I trying to kid? I'd never be a writer.

Then my teacher, Mr. DeGrafft,  who was also one of the judges for the contest, took the time to tell me the judges loved my essay... but it didn't fit within the parameters of what the American Legion was looking for in a winning essay. They wanted rah-rah, Mom and apple pie feel-good declarations about our shared humanity and the inherent kindness of mankind.

 I, on the other hand, wrote about how people seemed to have an us vs. them mentality, so I thought the only thing that would lead to true brotherhood on our planet would be if we discovered a bigger adversary on another one.

Not exactly what they were looking for. But that wonderful teacher... that kind caring man...  rekindled my inner spirit by telling me why my essay didn't do well. He had so much confidence in me, he helped restore some of my confidence in myself. For that, I will always be grateful.

Since then, I've always been involved with some kind of writing, and like everyone else, my confidence levels ebb and flow. (Where's Mr. DeGrafft when ya need him?) Things might be at the ebb level now, but I'm pretty sure the drive will roll back in any day now...

So what's changed? I no longer believe I'm ever going to be a great writer. Nor do I dream about Pulitzer prizes and cheering crowds waiting for me at book signings. I don't expect to be accepted in every anthology I submit to, and I don't expect every story I send to a magazine to be published. Whether or not I ever had any innate talent is immaterial. I'm endlessly grateful for those teachers who instilled confidence in my writing and editing ability, but since I've gotten older, I've adjusted the bar to a more realistic level.

I write because I love to write, and I still love to spin a story. Do I still get discouraged? Sure, I do. But I'm a big girl now, (in more ways than one...) and I don't need affirmation and support like I did as a kid. (But I'd still like it every once in a while...)

That's why reviews matter so much to me. At their best, they show me that I've connected with another human being... and THAT is my overwhelming goal. When I feel a little low, I re-read some of the fantabulous reviews for Hot Flashes and Cold Lemonade, and I look at some of the wonderful emails readers have sent me...

and I smile with gratitude. Life is good... even if no alien forces have united us yet.

                                 Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.