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I’m rarely taken aback by feelings of jealousy. But for some reason, last week when I walked into Barnes & Noble and saw her book prominently displayed just inside the front door, I was slapped in the face by a harsh reality check.
Four summers ago, we both attended a writing conference together in Portland, Oregon. We became fast friends amongst a group of kindred spirits who bonded that week over great writing, vodka and late-night arm wrestling matches.
We were all there because we were writers. Writers to the core. Writers ‘til death. We all wanted so badly to be published. To see our names in print. To stand at the lectern and watch heads nod their love of our recited words.
Since then she’s received an MFA in creative writing. Something I applied for, was rejected by, and talked myself into giving up on. It was for the best, I said to myself.
In those four years, I’ve gone to an additional writing conference and taken some private writing instruction and, while I was still in New York, worked diligently on my short stories and submitting them to publications.
Then I fell in love, got pregnant and remarried. In that order.
I kept a folder of rejection letters that kept getting fatter and fatter along with me.
I moved back to Texas, where I’m from. Where my parents live.
I had a girl then, a year and a half later, I had a boy.
I fell in love two more times.
I started writing some nonfiction here on my blog, where I collect my “practice essays.” But I haven’t written a good piece of fiction since I saw those two lines appear on the pee stick.
And I truly hadn’t missed it.
Until I saw her book on that display.
Until I thought back to that conference and remembered the passion I once had for writing fiction, the passion for words that has seemed dormant in me for four years now.
Has it really been four years?
My children are finally moving out of those helpless baby years and I see sleep in my future. So maybe now I can begin to focus again on me. On who I am. At my core. ‘Til death.
I thank Nami Mun for reminding me, with her smashing success of a book Miles from Nowhere. If you’re in Austin, come see her read at Book People next Tuesday.
I’ll be there cheering her on.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
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5 comments:
I'm with you. Maybe this will be our year. In which case, I'd better start writing something.
I know the feeling, lady. I think I told you about the time I sat with Vik at a conference in London listening to this girl read from her novel. I do this. I should be her. What the f@@#$!
Turns out that was Jhumpa Lahiri. How's my ego...
Sounds like a good start to finding your writing groove again.
Ah, jealousy. It's not all bad.
What do you say we challenge/help each other to get our flabby, flailing fiction selves back into shape?
I know that passion and I have that same stack of rejection letters. I need to start adding to it again:)
I know. I really do. As Binky said, maybe this will be the year?
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I’m rarely taken aback by feelings of jealousy. But for some reason, last week when I walked into Barnes & Noble and saw her book prominently displayed just inside the front door, I was slapped in the face by a harsh reality check.
Four summers ago, we both attended a writing conference together in Portland, Oregon. We became fast friends amongst a group of kindred spirits who bonded that week over great writing, vodka and late-night arm wrestling matches.
We were all there because we were writers. Writers to the core. Writers ‘til death. We all wanted so badly to be published. To see our names in print. To stand at the lectern and watch heads nod their love of our recited words.
Since then she’s received an MFA in creative writing. Something I applied for, was rejected by, and talked myself into giving up on. It was for the best, I said to myself.
In those four years, I’ve gone to an additional writing conference and taken some private writing instruction and, while I was still in New York, worked diligently on my short stories and submitting them to publications.
Then I fell in love, got pregnant and remarried. In that order.
I kept a folder of rejection letters that kept getting fatter and fatter along with me.
I moved back to Texas, where I’m from. Where my parents live.
I had a girl then, a year and a half later, I had a boy.
I fell in love two more times.
I started writing some nonfiction here on my blog, where I collect my “practice essays.” But I haven’t written a good piece of fiction since I saw those two lines appear on the pee stick.
And I truly hadn’t missed it.
Until I saw her book on that display.
Until I thought back to that conference and remembered the passion I once had for writing fiction, the passion for words that has seemed dormant in me for four years now.
Has it really been four years?
My children are finally moving out of those helpless baby years and I see sleep in my future. So maybe now I can begin to focus again on me. On who I am. At my core. ‘Til death.
I thank Nami Mun for reminding me, with her smashing success of a book Miles from Nowhere. If you’re in Austin, come see her read at Book People next Tuesday.
I’ll be there cheering her on.
Miles from Portland
Four summers ago, we both attended a writing conference together in Portland, Oregon. We became fast friends amongst a group of kindred spirits who bonded that week over great writing, vodka and late-night arm wrestling matches.
We were all there because we were writers. Writers to the core. Writers ‘til death. We all wanted so badly to be published. To see our names in print. To stand at the lectern and watch heads nod their love of our recited words.
Since then she’s received an MFA in creative writing. Something I applied for, was rejected by, and talked myself into giving up on. It was for the best, I said to myself.
In those four years, I’ve gone to an additional writing conference and taken some private writing instruction and, while I was still in New York, worked diligently on my short stories and submitting them to publications.
Then I fell in love, got pregnant and remarried. In that order.
I kept a folder of rejection letters that kept getting fatter and fatter along with me.
I moved back to Texas, where I’m from. Where my parents live.
I had a girl then, a year and a half later, I had a boy.
I fell in love two more times.
I started writing some nonfiction here on my blog, where I collect my “practice essays.” But I haven’t written a good piece of fiction since I saw those two lines appear on the pee stick.
And I truly hadn’t missed it.
Until I saw her book on that display.
Until I thought back to that conference and remembered the passion I once had for writing fiction, the passion for words that has seemed dormant in me for four years now.
Has it really been four years?
My children are finally moving out of those helpless baby years and I see sleep in my future. So maybe now I can begin to focus again on me. On who I am. At my core. ‘Til death.
I thank Nami Mun for reminding me, with her smashing success of a book Miles from Nowhere. If you’re in Austin, come see her read at Book People next Tuesday.
I’ll be there cheering her on.