It's true, I missed my deadline. I can hardly believe my grandfather has been gone a whole year. It feels like maybe a month. And then sometimes it feels so much longer than that.
I have no regrets about what has transpired this year. Well, maybe I regret spending so many hours after work watching "Boston Legal" reruns instead of writing. I suppose often the task was too daunting or I was too lazy to choose the book over relaxing on the couch. But even if I had not wasted some of those hours, I probably would still not have produced a completed novel by this month. I have learned so much this past year, the most important of which was learning that I still have so much to learn.
My life has completely changed since last July. I've figured out what it is I want out of life and I'm actively pursuing it every day. It all started with getting accepted into the MA program. That was the spark that set everything into motion. I took that research project, too, that was offered about Walter Scott. And then, after a while, I tried to give it up because I felt I was in too far over my head. But with some encouragement (and a little begging) from the project chairperson, I agreed to stick with it. Two weeks before the deadline, while my husband was attending a training session in Cleveland, I holed myself up in our hotel room (where the biggest distraction was "Saved by the Bell"reruns on TBS) and, in my old college habits, cranked out a paper in two and a half days, and, to my surprise, ended up with a pretty respectable paper. I had hoped to spend that hotel time writing about my grandfather, not Walter Scott, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I'm still volleying the piece back and forth with my editor, who keeps finding revisions that need to be made, so it's not on its way to the printer yet, but just finishing a first draft was a huge accomplishment for me and a huge reassurance that I can, in fact, go back to school and succeed (or at least finish). And I know it will be all worth it when I'm handed that book and my name is printed inside of it.
Another big confidence boost is the fact that I roped myself a grad assistant for this coming school year. While it was an emotionally grueling process, I somehow accidentally fooled them into thinking I was perfect for the job, and now I've secured my tuition for all of next year's schooling. Hopefully this means I can sneak in some writing classes as well and perhaps even earn my BA in writing while earning my MA in literature. Look at me be all scholarly!
I'm still on the fence about writing classes, though. I worry that they will end up being a waste of a time, a collection of skills I already have learned. I mean, sometimes I can sit down and crank out something in one sitting that is, I feel, the best thing I've ever written, and then I don't feel like I need to take writing classes at all. And then sometimes I sit down and feel like everything I type is disjointed, unoriginal, and all-around crap, and that I should take every single writing class available in the world because I desperately need it. However, I sense that most writers, no matter how much schooling they've had, probably go through this same cycle, so I very much doubt writing classes are gonna help clear up that problem.
And yet, I feel like I can't pursue writing seriously until I've got some professional lessons under my belt... which sounds silly. I've got a BA in English. I've written things people have commended me on before. But I'm old-fashioned. I don't want to be a famous blogger (it's painfully obviously I'm not anywhere close to being famous with this blog) or an internet sensation. I don't want to make millions publishing bathroom literature on Amazon (well, I mean everyone wants to make millions, but any serious writer will tell you they aren't into writing for the money, and good thing, because there rarely is any). I want to do this the hard way. I want to work for it. I want it to take time so I can appreciate it, so I take my lessons to heart, so I can cherish the personal connections I make along the way, and I can be grateful for and proud of everything I create.
Monday night I sat down and wrote something that I am immensely proud of--a reflection on my experience attending the last shuttle launch. And I emailed it to the local newspaper in hopes that they would print it. I'm not sure anything will come of it. I haven't heard a peep yet, so of course, I've declared defeat already, even though it's only been two days. I'm not even sure if it's something a newspaper would normally publish (although my supportive husband assures me it is). And even if they do publish it, it's not as if it were The New York Times, although perhaps I should send it there, too. But still, to see my name in print along with thousands of others (absolutely a larger number than those who will see my Walter Scott piece)... now that would be something.
I figure if they print it, they'll probably print it by the end of the week, because next week the launch will be old news. And if they don't print it, I'll probably post it on my blog, because not only do I feel it paints a good picture for those of you who have never been lucky enough to witness a launch firsthand, but I also happen to be quite proud of it.
The biggest downfall to this adventure of mine is definitely the waiting. It's gut-wrenching waiting to hear whether or not my piece is good enough, whether or not I am good enough. I suppose I best get used to it, though, because once I start submitting pieces to literary journals, there will be a lot of impatient nights and probably all for naught, because I hear rejection letters are abundant even among the most talented. Like with this newspaper piece, I can't rationalize what would take them so long to get back to me. How many op-eds could the department head possibly have to read? Why would they not get back to me right away? Did they even receive my piece? Maybe I should call them just to make sure? And then I see an article someone else wrote in a paper or online or on the news, and I think, hurry up, you damn paper. Every new article I see about the launch makes my piece even less important and effective.
When I had my interview for the GA position, I walked out of the interview feeling like I had nailed it. The Dean of the department even told me I had nailed it and that I would hear from him the next day or the following Monday. And of course he made me wait all weekend, my stomach in a perpetual knot while I replayed the entire interview over again in my head, second-guessing every word that came out of my mouth. Did I tell too many jokes? Did I come off too cocky? If I nailed it, why did they have to wait to decide? Why couldn't they just tell me now? Maybe I had it all wrong and they didn't like me at all. To my immense relief, that was not the case. Yes, indeed, the waiting is the worst. I pray it gets easier down the road, but I don't have high hopes that will be the case.
At any rate, I feel like there's a bigger purpose to my life now, a future I can reach out and touch. I face each day with a new energy and excitement. It's a pretty frickin' awesome feeling.
I often think to myself, I only wish I had done all this sooner, that I hadn't wasted five years at a job I hated, spent all that time being depressed and hopeless about the future. And part of me does regret waiting so long, because now I have to decide between starting a family or getting a PhD, putting my career goals perhaps before my domestic ones, and worrying about my biological clock and two wannabe grandmothers breathing down my neck for babies (and my increasing desire to oblige). But if this had all happened sooner, maybe I wouldn't have been able to appreciate it as much, wouldn't be so motivated to work hard for it. No, I think now is a good time. And the rest of it will fall into place, I'm sure... I hope.
With all of these new experiences in my life, still not a day goes by that I don't think about that book. Ideas or sentences pop into my head at the strangest of times. I am always planning outlines in my mind and taking notes about my memories as they float up from my subconscious. I have no intention of stopping my work on it, and I have no doubt the book will exist some day. And when it does, it will be perfect.
I haven't updated this blog in a while because I figured no one really cared about this adventure I was on. And I could be very right about that. I could post this entry on my facebook and it's quite possible no one will even click on it. So I figured for a long time, what's the point? And I'm not sure I have a point, even now as I'm writing. However, I guess I owe it to those people who do care, if any, to let them know where I stand after my year deadline. I'm not worried about letting anyone down about not completing the book. I haven't let myself down, and that's what matters most.
I can't say I'm gonna continue writing on this blog. I guess it just depends what kind of adventures keep coming my way and if people genuinely want to hear about them. In the meantime, keep an eye out for my launch piece, either on this site or maybe even in the paper.
