So I asked my husband of twenty-five years, “What would you tell the group?”
He’s the man, who after I’d had lunch with, where he ordered in Chinese (he’s Jewish), said, “I’d like to read what you’ve written.”
I told a co-worker, “I think I’ve found the one.”
His secretary told me of his integrity, while being in love with him while she was married. That’s all I’d prayed for for my fourth husband, a man with integrity. We agreed to marry seventeen days later.
He thought I had a brain. I’d met him six months before our first date in a university elevator. He was carrying a box full of copy paper.
I told him, “You should have one of your graduate students carry that.”
He said, “I have to keep up my macho image.”
To top that, I said, “I only have to worry about the Supreme Court.” (Some women’s rights’ issue on choice at the time.)
So he thought I had a brain.
“Get up there and write,” is his repeated advice. When I receive yet another rejection notice, he says, “You’re a good writer. It’s a subjective business.” Support is everything in this non-lucrative business. Guilt about claiming time to write is negated when I’m encouraged to continue to pursue my career. He also says, “Write for your own pleasure. I don’t think it’s any fun to write the way other people want you to.”
That said, being dyslectic adds to my insecurity. I read extensively both novels and how-to-write books. When instructions include a list of books, I can check off the majority as already digested.
I suppose if I ever get my “first novel” published by a main-stream publisher with adequate distribution, the jacket cover won’t list my rejection count or low Amazon sales. Hope is a thing with wings. Emily Dickinson said she’d heard it in the dreariest land. Hope does keep this writer’s heart beating. I miss quoted Emily. Here is her poem from the Poetry Foundation website:
Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chilliest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.
Purpose: To share and encourage. Writers can express doubts and concerns without fear of appearing foolish or weak. Those who have been through the fire can offer assistance and guidance. It’s a safe haven for insecure writers of all kinds!
Posting: The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day. Post your thoughts on your own blog. Talk about your doubts and the fears you have conquered. Discuss your struggles and triumphs. Offer a word of encouragement for others who are struggling. Visit others in the group and connect with your fellow writer – aim for a dozen new people each time.
Let’s rock the neurotic writing world!
Twitter hashtag is #IWSG