The forsythia has finally dotted my yard with its brilliant yellow blooms, the daffodils are hanging in there despite a high wind, and I do declare, the red buds are out. Yeah! There's hope!
This time of year is dangerous for a writer. I have a ton of work - rewrites, new stuff - to do, but outside my office window the yard is singing its siren song. (How's that for alliteration, LOL?) I want to move some plants, dig up a couple of Lelands that are thoroughly dead, and generally play with dirt. Keeping my fanny in my desk chair is taking a ton of will power. We'll see how long it lasts...
I've been thinking about writers and communities. Many of us seek out others who are like us - buried in story ideas we barely have time to sketch onto note cards before another plot pops into our heads. It's crazy, living in your mind with fictional people, for hours every day. Crawling out of our manuscripts takes time and planning, and is perhaps the hardest thing we do for ourselves. My husband knows when the writing hasn't gone well that day, and is a smart enough man to say encouraging words and commiserate with complete sincerity. His creative streak understands mine, which is why we've been married many a year now, I'm sure.
Talking with other writers never fails to energize me. Creative people "get"it. The dichotomy between the non-crazies (people who live normal lives) and those of us who are a bit "touched," as we say in the South, never fails to surprise me. It's reached the point where I try NOT to tell people what I do whenever I'm asked in a social setting. Either I get a glazed look like "are you lying?" to "have you ever published anything? No, really, I mean anything good" to "why would you want to do that?" and "I read some dirty words you wrote, how could you?" (Well, it wasn't ME, it was the fictional character, and it was part of who she was, you idjit!) That's my rant for the day, and no, not anyone can write a book. How many wannabes have started chapter 1, only to crash and burn by page twenty? You can't imagine.
By way of distraction (and there are many besides my yard, my children, and my beloved), I've become hooked on a NASCAR blog dedicated to analyzing television coverage of the sport. www.dalyplanet.blogspot.com hosts a dedicated group of racing fans who aren't afraid to speak up about what they like and don't like on Speed TV and ESPN, not to mention Fox and TNT. It's like having a heated discussion with people who pay attention to how the sport is covered. It has certainly opened my eyes to another world about which I knew nothing. Imagine programming execs paying attention to what the great unwashed masses want? Miracles do happen, it seems.
Since this is the season of miracles, Happy Easter to one and all.