Musings

Last night I attended a talk about writing for love and money. It was from a woman who had been in the publishing world for 20 years and was now on her own giving practical talks about the world of publishing to would be authors. I was one of many in the crowd. Mostly she encouraged us to find our own way we do not have to go with traditional publishing, we can think outside the box and create.

Yes, that is one thing about our wacky world today that is remarkable. We have many avenues to touch readers, lovers of poetry, admirers of art and fellow like-minded travelers across the world.

I am writing a book, a big book. I wonder if it will entice an agent and tempt a publisher to take it on. Deep down I really don't know. Sometimes it feels impossible. My negative thoughts race through me like a forrest fire and to breathe the air of 'maybe, just maybe it could work' is harder than staying true to a diet.

I ask myself, why am I doing this? The ugly truth? I do it because I would like to be heard. I spend most of my time listening, listening and listening some more. It is a gift I have to listen in such a way that issues disappear for the person speaking. But it has taken a toil on me. Writing feels like a way I can recapture my voice.

Crazy, I know. But this is where I am.