27 April 2009--Hack

"Our reading--and enjoyment of art, film, music or the web--is nourishment. We need to feed our imaginations." Kate Mosse

Thank you for that reminder. Now I just need to get over myself and write.

I've been so afraid recently (and if I'm honest, this trend has happened continually for at least four years) of being a hack and "plagiarizing" that I've stifled my imaginations for too long. Sure, it's discouraging that I'll not make a profitable career in writing, maybe not in years or ever. But I do know that I'm enjoying the writing and creative process, so why stop now? When have I ever let over thinking stop me from doing something that I knew to be right? Actually, I should say, I didn't even have to think through to conclusions on decisions that I knew were right. I didn't have to think to go to Word of Life, the best year of my life. Or, Cedarville, where I met Mark. Or, transferring to Virginia, where I fell in love with literature and reading again, and realized that there was more to life than being prodded like cattle from one class to another. Funny how I felt more anonymous at Cedarville than I did at a huge school like JMU.
I definitely didn't have to think about getting married to Mark on Maui or worry that we didn't have a job in Ohio. I just didn't think about it. I honestly knew that everything would work out and I would be happy with the result.

Through all these things, there was a certain amount of work involved, like ensuring that applications were turned in on time, researching the right place and time for a wedding, making phone calls to rentals in Cedarville. But, they were just part of the process and I took them for granted because there was no doubt in my mind that I would engage in that activity. It's just that the few things that are occupying my time now, namely this house-building and writing is encountering greater work, a greater process, but at the same time, these activities result in a larger end or gain.

The writing to me is an end in itself. Like being able to be married with a month's preparation. The reward was Maui and a transferrable job. The reward now will be living in a completed house with little to no debt and a published novel. Being published is not the goal. Writing is. Being published would be the reward, or fruit of these labors. And in a weird way, a means to an end, because practicality dictates that I need money to pay the bills. The ideal would be that I could quit my day job and write full time. But, truthfully, I am beginning to understand that I would write anyways, and again, should get over myself, and apply the same fervor of getting a second job (working 20 hours a week) on top of my own 40-50 hours towards writing. What more can I accomplish with 4-5 hours a day of writing! Ideally, I would want to do this everyday, but I know that I will need to rest and refresh from time to time.