Always Planning to Finish

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I love to write and have a million stories I want to tell, but the minute my butt hits the chair that has been set up with table, computer and reference things, well, that’s when the spider web in the corner of the room that has been there for months suddenly requires my attention, and NOW! I don’t think I am alone in this situation. It happens to the most earnest writers.

If I say I am a poet but have not sat down for a year to write even a single verse, I would still consider myself a poet. I say I am a writer and I do write every single day but I still feel like I have a long way to go to let go of the imposter syndrome that haunts me. I have close to 1,000 followers in my 5 blogs. Those are not overwhelming numbers but considering I have not applied any SEO techniques or paid for a fearless marketing webinar, I would say I am doing very well.

Sometimes I wish I could be in the mail room of a major publishing house. I would love to be privy to exactly what kind of material is being submitted by hopefuls like me who actually finish a manuscript they feel is worth publication. They have a story to tell and tell it. 40 years ago, I wrote a humorous story (in my P.G.Wodehouse phase) that I thought had potential. I was so sure of it, I mailed it out to an “agent”, paid money to have it edited, then paid more money to have them market it, to be disappointed months later when they wrote to tell me that they shopped it around but there was no interest. I don’t even know where the story ended up. I think I expected to somehow become an instant best-selling author and when rejection came, I gave up. I was around 24 at the time, married to an older, grumpy guy who gave me no support in that project so I just went about my life, working, going to night school for secretarial science so that I could, what?, type someone else’s manuscript?

All my life, I have put obstacles in front of me to keep my writing schedule very limited, in the best of times. I am no longer married to an ogre. He is my partner and is very much an enthusiastic cheerleader of my efforts but I have yet to really finish a single one of my “novels” to share with him. I belong to a small writers group and I have shared with them to much encouragement. I don’t know how it happens but the minute I share and get positive feedback, I can’t complete my work and in true scattered manner, I immediately begin a new story that will have exactly the same fate. Woe is me, I hope I get better. Perhaps expressing myself in this way will allow me to open my mind and let the story flow out of me. Not a new one but at least conclude one of 3 current ones that all have potential, I am told. Nothing worse than something that had potential but never got anywhere. Like a lover who thought he confessed his love when in fact, he kept it all in his head! Hmmm, now there’s a story!

Boot Camp

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I spent a lot of my childhood being scolded. At least that is how it always felt to me. It wasn’t only my parents who were doing the scolding. Teachers, my older sibling, the housekeepers, friends. I really disliked the feeling. I promised myself that if I were ever in a position of authority, scolding would never be my way of instructing anyone. I don’t know what adult modeled an alternate way of behaving. I am sorry that I can’t give credit to that individual. Perhaps it was a book or series of books that showed possibilities that didn’t include violence.

My childhood began in Costa Rica. At a young age, I became a resident of Brooklyn, New York. While I never chose to live in the U.S. I adapted as children do and made the best of all my circumstances. I believe myself extremely privileged even though I may not have realized it until much later. There were some wonderful benefits that came to me as a result of being an immigrant, no one expected much of me so anything I did that was even remotely competent was a welcome surprise.

Although I was pretty smart, I was not an applied student. I did what I needed to do to get passing (or good) grades but I never signed up for extra credits or additional tasks. I held the teachers at bay, never being comfortable enough to make friends of them before, during or after our structured exposure to one another. I recall being a little envious of one of my friends who was so relaxed about befriending teachers. I remember marveling at the ability she had to separate the teacher from the person. I never could do that. I always felt that the teacher would recall my grades when we were socializing and might bring it up in conversation. It never occurred to me that inherent in a real educator was the ability to also separate the student from the person and not be inclined to mention a bad grade in the middle of a tennis game, for a wild example. Oh the things that run through my memory sometimes. It boggles my mind that I wasted so many opportunities to get close to teachers who might have imparted tremendous wisdom and advice for my future educational endeavors.

I am a successful person. I do, however, long for the days I chose to never give myself: going to daytime college instead of community college at night and working during the day. My family was not in dire straits. Brooklyn College was tuition free when I was accepted. I rebuffed the opportunity because I had no intention of returning to NY after I graduated from high school to come back to Costa Rica for the summer. Costa Rica makes me thrive. It is, after all, my birthplace and the one place no one can tell me to leave (although some hinted years ago they might be better off if I were gone). Being retired with independent children means I get to do what I like these days. I am devoting the rest of my days, (and may they be many, please God) to writing successfully. What does that mean? Hopefully publishing something and perhaps even getting paid. I wish I had gone to college properly so that instead of being afraid to write because I feel I haven’t got the proper tools or degree, I could just have had the opportunity to write, edit, rewrite and been rejected at the college level to know once and for all whether I was good enough. Heck, I read books and essays that I could have written even better, but they beat me to it. There is nothing to do but continue to write, whether the readership increases or not is not really the issue. Although I hate to apply a “boot camp” mentality, I feel that is the only way I am ever going to succeed. By scolding myself into action.

Violence Everywhere

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I had some disturbing news a few days ago. A former employee was violently killed. I felt for a long time that he had lost his way. Every so often he would call to touch base (more often to ask for a loan) but it was not a comfortable situation for me because I felt so disappointed in the way things were left between us. It has been difficult for me to process this news. He was probably in his late 40’s, perhaps just 50 and because he lied to me so often, I don’t know how many children he left behind but I am guessing it could be close to 10.

The recent months have brought many upsetting events, not just Covid-related either. Every day I wake up filled with energy and optimism, thinking I will finally tackle a chapter in one of my three current stories but then as the hours pass, some topic will grab my attention and off I go on a tangent that has little to do with writing. Yesterday I spent most of the afternoon researching blogs…I have been blogging for over 10 years, not sure what I thought I could accomplish by researching the best blogs, how to increase readership, whether to try to monetize, how to capitalize on SEO tools. I repeat, I’ve been blogging for 10 years. Do I have thousands of followers? Nope! But I appreciate the ones I do have and week after week my blogs show modest increases in followers.

I will be 66 in a couple of weeks. I cannot believe that. I have had a pretty good life. That fact sometimes makes me think it is impossible for me to produce Pulitzer-prize worthy material. On the other hand, I want to challenge myself to imagine a life from a different perspective, like that of my now-deceased former employee. I regret that I didn’t ask him more questions when he was employed by us but I began to suspect early that he would lie and I also didn’t want to know too many details and become embroiled in his situation. I feel bad about the whole thing. The violence with which death came is something from a crime thriller. I will never know the answer and there are so many questions. Mayor he rest in peace, may the angels keep his widow and children safe. I do pray for that today.