Writing Anyway and Sending Out Hope

A soggy May and the cold, rainy June took its toll on my garden, delaying germination of my zucchini and beans. Still, I’ve had fresh greens, Swiss Chard, Spinach and my wonderful lettuce mix (Spring Mix by Cook’s Garden.) Yum!

Swiss Chard was introduced to me by my father-in-law in the first year my husband and I were married. I begged him for the beet greens he had thinned from his row of beets and he said if I loved them, I’d love Swiss Chard. He was right. By the way, my favorite way to cook Swiss Chard is simply sautéing it in a little olive oil and butter. Takes about 5 minutes and I only pepper it. No salt.

Not everyone likes Chard, but try it this way and see. I think you'll be surprised. Not at all what you think.

The end of June has turned hot. I never mind the heat, but I’ve decided the hot, dry wind is going to be my undoing. It wilts my plants, misdirects the water system, tosses windsocks into a tangle with its oppressive breath. It stifles and makes me frown. I’m not even aware that I am until I feel the muscles over my eyes start twitching.

I’m plugging away at Elsa and the Tie-down Man. It’s been an eye-opening experience. The last time I worked on this story, was two years ago. I remember struggling mightily with the editing, puzzling over several aspects of the story. Wishing I had a writer friend to help with the rewrites and editing, feeling insecure and more than a little clueless as to what I was doing. Each day seemed like trudging through mud.

Spiral forward many months to me with a very different perspective and that’s all changed. It seems I have a better grasp of the story than I did then for one thing. Seems strange, too, because I didn’t one time think about Elsa and the Tie-down Man while I was recouping, not after I had packed all the chapters and research away. I really thought I might never get back to writing novels. Seemed like writing anything was iffy.

Time and experience might be why. Another little blessing that’s come to me, I think.
The thing is, I think my subconscious was working on it the whole time, too. I don’t know, maybe my perspective is just clearer from here. I don’t really care. I’m just happy to be plugging away and feeling I’m improving the work. I love this story though I want it done, too. I’m feeling hopeful again, about my writing.

And just when I was feeling all that hope and good writing, I got a rejection letter in the mail today for a short story I sent out a few months ago. I wallowed in self-pity for about an hour, then another angle for the story whispered and a place to submit it and I let go of the sorrow. I’ll do my Scarlett O’Hara imitation and worry about the rejection tomorrow. I’ll rewrite today.

I remember reading somewhere that how you knew you were a ‘real’ writer was that when you got a rejection letter you rewrote the work and sent it out in the next day’s mail (after that moment of self-pity. After all, you just might need to write about that emotion one day) You keep something in the mail…it’s called hope.

I’ve decided it’s not how many times you fall off your horse; it’s how many times you get back on and I’m out to prove it.