Coming Up For Air

I am finally coming up for air after an extremely over-scheduled semester and am finding a million notes and ideas that I have been jotting down since last summer. I managed to put together a full-length poetry collection that I am getting out to a few contests and publishers, which feels really good. It's a project I have been wanting to do for a really long time.

I've also spent a great deal of time locked away editing (and re-editing and reorganizing and rewriting) the Sci-fi novel "Are You Still My Girl?" that it feels like I've been living in a cave with these characters. So as I near the end of editing that novel (yeah right!) I have decided to move on to book two as I send out queries and letters and samples and synopses on Book one.

I am in the process of pulling on the new story strands left dangling at the end of book one. I really love these characters and this story. It's a story I would want to read, and I guess that is a good thing. I have left them all pretty shattered at the end of book one and I can't wait to see where they go and how they respond to their new adventures. Sometime it's as much fun for me as a writer to see what will happen when I throw these characters into new and dangerous situations.

But I am also thinking a lot lately about this path I have chosen. There is little guarantee with a lot of work that has to be done before I can even have the possibility of anything happening.  When I try to explain this to people they just look at me like I am crazy, What? spend four years working on something that might not even sell, are you crazy? Maybe I am. I'm not so sure anymore...

But I always seem to hold out the idea of the possibility that maybe it's not all for nothing. And honestly, I just really love it.  I always have; this process of writing. I fall in love (and conversely hate) my characters. They become a very large part of my life and at times it feels as if I know and understand them more than the people around me. I can make my characters respond in ways that make sense to me, which, of course, real life does not, in any way, emulate. And then there are days when I think that this is such a strange way to live having these characters that only exist because I put them on paper fill my thoughts and consciousness in this odd life I have chosen.

Where will all this work end up? I honestly have no idea. But wherever it goes, I will follow it and keep writing and creating and living in this world of poetry and stories and strange characters that come to life off of the page for me because this is where I seem to find my contentment. This is when I have those rare moments of quiet that soothe me and make me feel as if I am finally where I belong.