Recently, I was looking for a story amidst all my story folders, and I couldn’t find what I was looking for. There are volumes of folders now, a strong majority of them dated 2012. I said something out of frustration, and my husband gave me an indulgent smile. “Yes, it’s because you’re writing.” He sounded quite proud.
Not long after that, I went to tell my son a bedtime story, and within two or three sentences, he interrupted me. “Oh, I know this one.” When I was finished with the story, I asked him what he thought of it. “Oh, Mom, it’s not nearly long enough. There needs to be more!” He demanded.
I asked a woman who reviewed me on Goodreads.com to add the review to Amazon as well. She told me she would be happy to. When I asked her, I felt presumptuous, but she was so sweet and amiable I realized it wasn’t a problem at all. She told me that she was a fellow writer who hoped to be published someday. She also mentioned she might ask me for help when she got to that point. I found I truly wanted to help her out, to support her on such an exciting journey.
I am a beta reader for three writers, a sounding board for a fourth. If I had the wherewithal to organize a writer’s group, I could easily get some Avengers to assemble. I’ve been organizing groups since I was 16, and gamers and writers tend to overlap heavily. My drawback is that I simply don’t have the time to dedicate on a weekly basis. Rather than try to add another week’s worth of work into an already busy schedule, I make do with the structures I’ve cobbled together.
There is so much material that I’ve stored up over the years, I don’t know what to do next. I will be editing my second novel; my editor projects a 6 month turn around for this process. I’m trying to make headway on the fairy tales. That has proven easier because the chapters are short stories, rather than a full novel.
Currently, there are two vampire novels in the works, one present day, one set in the Roarin’ 20’s. I have a series for my science fiction world, probably 5 books minimum. It is doubtful that I will ever catch up to myself, because new ideas seem to sprout up every day.
While sending my artist and story director a copy of a newly finished fairy tale, I found one I hadn’t shown her yet. I opened it and read the older story, and it was a travesty. It was probably six months old, but between then and now, I have made extraordinary leaps of growth. Not because I’m extraordinary, but because I’ve been doing nothing but writing every day. I sent it to her with trepidation, but the story is solid enough to stand. It’s just the ‘wrapping paper’ that needs changing.
There was a time when I thought that I would never write again. That I was not capable of finishing a work, that I would always be a dabbler and never be a professional. To think I could have missed this makes me shudder.
Especially now, when I ask myself, “What do I want to write today,” and find that I am spoiled for choice.