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Last week I waited down to the wire to get my GH entries
in. Typical of me, really. But I wanted to make them the best
they could be, which meant making some deep changes--story of
my writing life.
And I've learned over the years that waiting until the last
minute creates a multitude of problems: stress being number
one. This last week I've been moody and snappy, trying to do
everything I usually do and hammer out those entries (loooong
hours revising). My compulsive, perfectionist nature didn't
help matters.
Then of course there are other issues: mistakes (making
changes to the wrong version), rash judgment calls (cut that
scene, rewrite that scene), financial burdens (it's
expensive to send those things express!), unexpected
problems (I still have ink stains on my hands from my dang
printer jam).
 Which
brings me to the support topic.
My husband saved me the night before I had to get the entries
in the mail, and it struck me how far we've come and what a
supportive environment I have for my writing, one I sometimes
take for granted.
That night, my kids gave up the computer without argument and
endured my snippiness while I fought with the stupid printer.
When all my attempts to fix it failed, my husband took me out
to his fire station, which recently closed for the winter
season, and set me up on three different printers so I could
get the entries done. He made sure I had snacks and heat and
music before he left to play taxi for the kids. Then he called
every half hour to check on me and make sure the printers were
working.
We just had our sixteenth anniversary.
But it wasn't always this way. The road of acceptance didn't
come over night--from my husband or my parents or my friends.
Writing is my ninth career, and I'm not even sure you could
call it a career since I don't get paid for it. Yet. I guess
you could call it a serious endeavor.
In my early years, probably through about my sixth career
change, I was met with a lot of opposition and criticism and
negativity across the board. Career changes, especially into
the creative field (art, music, writing), aren't typically met
in our society with excitement and glee. They're seen as
risky--so is making changes in general. Do it too often, and
you're seen as flaky.
I challenged and debated and endured, sometimes unhappily,
sometimes grudgingly, sometimes challengingly. All my
endeavors have been successful to some degree, and over the
years, my loved ones have come to accept the fact that this is
who I am, and that I'm fully capable of doing several things
at once. I proved that I could make my ideas work while still
playing mother, wife, daughter, aunt, sister and friend.
Because of that, my shift to writing wasn't a huge leap for my
circle of supporters. And as the years press on and I continue
to write, win a contest here and there, rack up the industry
rejections, they spur me on.
A long time ago, I learned to cull the negative nay-sayers out
of my immediate circle. And I give my family and friends the
same kind of positive, constructive, loving support that I
expect in return. It's made my marriage stronger, my
friendships deeper and my familial relationships richer with
mutual respect and belief and support.
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