Here I am not submitting stories to publishers.
Here I am having a hard time concentrating on my writing.
Here I am needing to check things off my "To Do" list before I can even pause and consider hashing out a new tale.
Here I am trying not to beat myself up for pushing aside my dream.
My days march forward swiftly, with my actions focused on family, home, friends and work and my mind reminding me of this wish.
How can I make this happen? When can I make this happen? My creativity is not like a faucet waiting to be turned on. My creativity to like accidentally discovering a beautiful shell in the sand when you are looking at the sky.
Today I find myself reading a story about Fred Rogers.
Mr Rogers studied music in college. He wrote a handful of songs. When he finished school he showed the songs to a successful musician with all his hope and pride attached. The musician told him they were good. And to come back when he had a barrelful.
Mr. Rogers remembered, "Of course what he knew was that if I really wanted to be a song-writer, I'd have to write songs and not just think about the five I had written. And so, after the initial disappointment, I got to work; and through the years, one by one, I have written a barrelful. In fact the more I wrote, the better the songs became, and the more those songs expressed what was real within me."
A barreflful.
I have a few stories that I've chewed on for years; not able to bring them to life and not able to let them go.
Lately, I scribble ideas for more stories.
My goal is to revisit them when I have a barrelful. To edit and re-write and share and finesse them only when I have so many that my pride and hope won't be weigh them down.
Here I am sticking with it.
Here I am shifting my expectations.
Here I go.
