Tag Archives: perseverance

On perseverance

I’ve just clicked “send” on an email to a Canadian magazine that prints all sorts of (quite good) artsy-fartsy stuff like poetry and paintings and short stories.  Attached to my email was a Word document containing a brief bio and two of my very own shorts.  Afterward I sat back and experienced a sensation I know all too well from when I started querying magazines for nonfiction pieces.  It’s a sort of pull on my emotions in three distinct directions: relief, overt anxiety, and the nagging sense that I’ve no business sitting back in the first place, and I need to just get over it and get onto the next thing.

The annoying bit is that the nagging is more spot on than any of it.  In all likelihood, they will read my stories and think, “Oh, that’s nice,” just as they toss them into the recycling (assuming they felt them worthy of printing off in the first place, and they have a decent sense of responsibility to our planet).  That’s the truth, the fact that it equates to tiny little daggers poking into every square millimeter of my ego notwithstanding.  And so, gentle reader, wonderful reader, reader who reads me so regularly I could kiss you but you all live way too far away for that, what’s a girl to do?  Try to find balance, that’s what. Again.

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Head Above Water, Eyes on the Prize

There are a number of good reasons I have embarked upon this completely new career – if you’ll allow me to call it that even in its pathetically fledgling state.  I (and Chris) wanted to be able to work wherever I lived, and I wanted where I lived to be truly a question of want.  I wanted a deeply felt freedom of movement to accompany any decision we might make to lay down roots.  I wanted to reconnect with words; for the first two thirds of my life I thought I’d die if I stopped laying them down, wherever I could sometimes – even on the cliché fast food napkin stuffed in my back pocket, already scribbled upon once, as I sat in a bus overcome by peculiar details on a day’s journey to my job in the mall.  After too many papers at university, or maybe too much paperwork in the office, the drive to write left me…or perhaps I gave in too easily.  Whatever the case, I lost the habit for years.  Many of those years were psychically difficult to say the least – I hoped picking it back up might address some of that. But once we decided to move to France, I committed to the aforementioned decision ultimately because I had no choice.  My French wouldn’t get me through a shift in a bar, let alone in any kind of position that would be tenable for the longer term.

I didn’t, however, opt for this change to insert excitement into my life.  In point of fact, I was quite content with the notion that perhaps this would make for a slightly more peaceful existence, particularly when I looked back upon some of the work I’ve done over the last several years, which I may at some point find relevant to discuss in this blog.  Not yet.

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