Write something short, my grandmother said. She knows how hard I've been working on trying to publish my novels, maybe she thought it would be easier to publish something shorter. ... so here I am, updating my blog. Maybe my Tata (the name we've always called her) knew something was dragging me down. Maybe she knew writing anything would make me feel better. She's right, I know.
I'm at that point where I've lost the sparkles and the rainbows. I'm floundering in the fog of missed chances and the haze of broken spirits. The promise of a dream-fulfilled has been looming like a helium baloon for many years now. "You're so close," mentors have told me. "You're so lucky, agent so-and-so still has your manuscript," friends have said. But the promise feels empty from my vantage point.
How many years can you count yourself lucky that you're "so close" before it becomes a bold-faced lie? What I thought was a party-sized helium baloon turned out to be a car-sized hot-air ride. I'm at the point right now where I just want to slip on the parachute and jump out of the basket.
Then I try to think of what my life would be like if I didn't have my writing to keep me going.
I can't. I am a writer. I am a dreamer. I am a maker of wishes. Giving up on my dreams would be tantamount to a death sentence for me.
So, because I abhor the idea of giving up, I'm putting on blinders and going forward. I don't know how to go any other way. The depression that tried to smother me recently can't possibly beat my stars-and-rainbows personality. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still not feeling in the best of moods. I'm still deathly afraid of never achieving my dreams. But I can't live like that. It's not in my nature.
That day, oh so many years ago, when my mother broke the news to me that Santa Claus wasn't real, is still such a vivid memory. I cried for the rest of the day and into the next. The idea of there not being a Santa Claus, to me, meant that there was no hope and no goodness in this world. It only got better when Mom and I redefined Santa's existence -- yes, he lived once and he continues to live in the hearts of many. He just doesn't have a sleigh and reindeer.
So, this dream of being a published author is my grown up Santa Claus moment.
Yes, I am a writer, and I have dreams of writing stories that will live in the hearts of young people everywhere for a very long time. When the dark reality tries to drag me down, I will wish upon the evening star, but wishing and dreaming aren't enough.
Tightening those blinders around my face, I continue forward, working ever-diligently, my dreams alive and palpable, until the day I find my reindeer.
