My horse accident happened at a time in my life when I was extremely happy. I had never had so much in my life that was good. And I had never had so much to lose. I was terrified.
“T.S Eliot once said, ‘If you aren’t in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?’ We should all feel as if we’re in over our heads when we write; that’s how we know we’re writing about something that really matters. So it takes either courage, self-deception, ignorance, or some of all three, to knowingly put ourselves in this position. It takes an endless supply of hope. Writing anything is ultimately an act of faith and love.” ~ Lee Martin
At January’s Writer’s Salon, Beth Wright from Trio Bookworks spoke with us about the world of publishing. We discussed questions like “What value does publishing bring or you hope it will bring to your work?” and “What does it take away or do you fear it will take away?”
I’ve been obsessively writing for a few weeks. I’ve entered a secret world of words that I can get lost in for hours. Picture some kind of matrix scene where probes are attached to my head and I’m twitching and people are shaking me and yelling, “Maery! Maery! Wake up!”
Despite the best of intentions, it’s been awhile since I posted here and will probably be awhile before I post again. It’s been an interesting summer — strange and perplexing and directionless and maybe a better summer because of that.
A writing routine I’d been doing pretty well with crashed and burned last week. For a couple weeks, I’d been hiding out in a library near work during my lunch hour to pound out or edit a few pages of my book. It wasn’t much, but enough to get me back into the story, with a clear direction of what I would work on during the weekend.