On the mornings that I want to give up…

This morning happened to be one of those days.

Each time I start a new blog or begin typing a new post, I can never decide if I want to use this space as a confessional diary or free advertisement for my books.  Do I want to share every intimate thought or remain a faceless set of words on the screen?

I’m not a professional blogger nor can I ever claim to have any success whatsoever in that category.  Unlike the ladies and gents who have tons of followers, I’m only witty with people I have known at least a decade or more, and only philosophical with the same number of friends that I can count on one hand.

I’m not a great romance writer, and my critics can easily tell you that.  I’m constantly battling with myself between wanting to compose sweet romantic literature or erotic chick lit…I can’t seem to find a comfortable spot in either one of those categories.  In person, I’m über studious and practical – actually just stepped in the door from a trip to the library – and also very sly with flashing brown eyes that have gotten me into interesting trysts more than once…As much as I want my tales to have some enduring moral meaning, my wild streak always shows up to wipe away my characters’ wholesome nature.

So, all in all, I don’t have a happy home in the literary world.

Those were most of my thoughts as I opened my eyes this morning and blinked away the odd dream I was walking through. Dear girl, what in the world are you doing with yourself?  Give up and go back to that corporate nest you loathed so much…at least the pay was steady and they had a matching IRA.  On second thought, start a gossip column…write about what those ladies with that long dark hair are doing today…They’re always trending, so there’s tons of cash to be made.  You’re fooling yourself…No one wants to fall in love anymore, they just want to keep up with the you-know-who’s.

I rolled over and tossed the blankets over my head…not defeated, but not motivated either.  No second round of sleep in sight, because the birds wouldn’t stop singing and the neighbor’s dogs – as in, wow, how many dogs do you have now? – were hysterical for attention – again!  Get up and get that agenda together…Write a new short story about that cute scene I was thinking of yesterday? – Nope, those suck, people want to read about sex, not holding hands in the park…A quick poem to share how miserable I feel at this moment? – Nah, they suck, too, can’t seem to balance out that whole sensual-heartbreak rhythm that grabs people’s attention.

After moping about how purposefully unproductive I wanted to be, it finally dawned on me…I haven’t asked the right question.  That one question that gets me moving again, brings a bit of cheer to my cheeks, and compels me to give this crazy dream another try.  What do I want?

A couple of months ago, I prayed Mother Theresa’s prayer.  Catholic isn’t my official denomination, but I needed something to really revive me, to get me excited about living life again.  It’s a multi-day prayer and the book tells you that something extraordinary is supposed to happen at the conclusion of the novena. Oh, boy…did it.  The personal firewall I had spent yyyeaarrrss erecting around myself suddenly disintergrated…I’m mean like…Oh my God, what the *bleep* happened?  A barren landscape of no hope on the horizon, no inspiration, no motivation, followed by a long series of bizarre…why me? what did I do wrong?…events one after another.  When it rains it pours is no expression to be taken lightly. How about drenched with no shelter in sight.

Truthfully, I’m still recovering from my sudden absence of laughter and optimism.  Even as I continue to emerge, shaking off the ash and haze as I go, I’m starting to realize that I’ve been looking at these downfalls from the wrong angle. Each time, I rise much stronger and more insightful than I once was.  My personal tragedies and triumphs drive my storytelling to its peak…Every story that has zapped a reaction out of a reader has been one written after I’ve come crawling out of an emotional death valley.  As odd as it sounds, when I’m immersed in my wallowing spirit, I can somehow tap into a reflecting pool of eternal truths. The flow of the story becomes genuine…a sort of pseudo-autobiography floats to the surface…bits of truth playing against dabs of fantasy, and is deeply felt by both the author, the characters, and the audience.

So, toward the conclusion of another day of tapping out my heart as an indie author, my inspirational question still needs to be answered, one more time…What do I want?  Fame? Fortune? Awards? Fans?  All of the above? None?  After a cleansing breath, the serene truth is returned to me, one more time…I want to reach across an indefinite number of miles and connect with just one person – you, Dear Reader.  If I can spark even the dimmest flicker of kinship within your thoughts and your heart, I’ve done my job and lived up to my purpose in life…Until then…one more day, one more time to start over and get it right is almost here…LL♥

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4 thoughts on “On the mornings that I want to give up…

  1. Dear Lenise… I have just read some randomly picked posts and all I can say is – don’t go back to corporate nest (ever) … 🙂

    Like your blog, thank you for visiting mine.

    1. Aww, thank you for the boost in confidence! It’s always nice to know kind ppl are still brightening up the world :~)

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