A few signs that you might not be ready yet to return to your novel-in-progress after giving birth:
Coffee doesn't seem to have quite the same uplifting rise 'n shine sort of effect you remember.
You get weepy watching the lead change in the first quarter of an NBA playoff game.
Your reading life consists of Curley the Pig and Peter Cottontail. (While Beatrix Potter was a fine author, she does nothing to stoke your creative fire.)
Your conversational ability has diminished to gibberish - some of which rhymes, or at least seems to while spoken in a sing-songy tone.
Your alone time is limited to the bathroom...assuming you remember to lock the door.
Showing posts with label motherhood and writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood and writing. Show all posts
Monday, April 20, 2009
Saturday, June 7, 2008
Workshop
According to their website the workshop is like boot camp and focuses heavily on exercises to spark the generation and revision of new work.
I specifically chose to apply to this workshop because I'm now a full year out from having been in any sort of workshop setting. And because I spend a solid 75% of my time with people under the age of four. And because I never have quiet moments to write. I have somewhat less busy moments, but I'm always somewhat on the edge, just waiting for the next alarm to sound, for the next poop-cident to drag me miles away from any sort of creative and industrious moment.
I chose Kenyon because I need some alone time to write. And I chose a workshop over say, renting a hotel room by myself for a week, because I need to surround myself with like-minded people. Otherwise, I would no doubt spend my afternoon's alone wandering antique shops or my evenings staring at mindless television, while the screen saver swirls over the laptop monitor (which would be on a table surrounded by pints of fat-free ice cream and crumpled bags of cheddar flavored Quakes and whatever other food I can never eat around my kids without them clammoring for more, more, more.)
I need the space, but I also need the boot, so to speak.
But, now only a week away from arriving, I'm feeling more than a little overwhelmed. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm dreading it, because I certainly am not. I'm very much looking forward to it. I'm just anxious. Mostly because the story I used to apply to the program has since been accepted for publication (yay) - so I opted to submit a different sample, a story -gulp- that I have doubts about. No one asked me to do this, this was all me.
What was I thinking? That I would love being torn apart (sorry, constructively criticized)? That my ego could use a good thrashing?
Obviously not. I'm no masochist. No, I decided to submit the story-in-question, in an uncharacteristic moment of rational thought. For that strange short moment of clarity before pressing send, I understood that whatever issues I'm having with this story, I haven't been able to fix on my own - so it might be good to get the help of fellow writer's.
I haven't had too many moments like that since then. Then again, I've been dealing with other matters here (fleas, for one - ugh). Which again, brings me back to why I applied to the workshop in the first place.
Time to find my big girl pants and just get it over with.
I specifically chose to apply to this workshop because I'm now a full year out from having been in any sort of workshop setting. And because I spend a solid 75% of my time with people under the age of four. And because I never have quiet moments to write. I have somewhat less busy moments, but I'm always somewhat on the edge, just waiting for the next alarm to sound, for the next poop-cident to drag me miles away from any sort of creative and industrious moment.
I chose Kenyon because I need some alone time to write. And I chose a workshop over say, renting a hotel room by myself for a week, because I need to surround myself with like-minded people. Otherwise, I would no doubt spend my afternoon's alone wandering antique shops or my evenings staring at mindless television, while the screen saver swirls over the laptop monitor (which would be on a table surrounded by pints of fat-free ice cream and crumpled bags of cheddar flavored Quakes and whatever other food I can never eat around my kids without them clammoring for more, more, more.)
I need the space, but I also need the boot, so to speak.
But, now only a week away from arriving, I'm feeling more than a little overwhelmed. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm dreading it, because I certainly am not. I'm very much looking forward to it. I'm just anxious. Mostly because the story I used to apply to the program has since been accepted for publication (yay) - so I opted to submit a different sample, a story -gulp- that I have doubts about. No one asked me to do this, this was all me.
What was I thinking? That I would love being torn apart (sorry, constructively criticized)? That my ego could use a good thrashing?
Obviously not. I'm no masochist. No, I decided to submit the story-in-question, in an uncharacteristic moment of rational thought. For that strange short moment of clarity before pressing send, I understood that whatever issues I'm having with this story, I haven't been able to fix on my own - so it might be good to get the help of fellow writer's.
I haven't had too many moments like that since then. Then again, I've been dealing with other matters here (fleas, for one - ugh). Which again, brings me back to why I applied to the workshop in the first place.
Time to find my big girl pants and just get it over with.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The State of Creation
I stumbled across Canteen recently. It considers itself to be a "new take on the literary magazine" by pairing accomplished writers personal stories or insight with their fiction or poetry. The excerpts available online for their first two issues caught my attention. Andrew Sean Greer writes of his first novel, which reminded me of my own first attempts.
And in issue two, Joyce Maynard writes about the influence her mother had on her writing. As a (frazzled) mother of two (very small) children, I struggle constantly to keep the two halves of myself together: the writer and the diaper changer, midnight nurturer. And while much of what Maynard had to say about her mother's ability to tell stories and to teach by example was impressive, what I found most encouraging is that she tells us, "Later in life, once my sister and I were grown, my mother published books of her own."
Looking around my cluttered, claustrophobic life this gray morning, there is hope.
And in issue two, Joyce Maynard writes about the influence her mother had on her writing. As a (frazzled) mother of two (very small) children, I struggle constantly to keep the two halves of myself together: the writer and the diaper changer, midnight nurturer. And while much of what Maynard had to say about her mother's ability to tell stories and to teach by example was impressive, what I found most encouraging is that she tells us, "Later in life, once my sister and I were grown, my mother published books of her own."
Looking around my cluttered, claustrophobic life this gray morning, there is hope.
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