Monday, June 23, 2014
Today is a good day to write.
Rest assured, writer, we will be published, whatever the cost.
Do not approach me unannounced, especially when I am writing.
There is no honor in writing without revising.
Sir, I must protest. My character is not a merry man.
A writer never breaks his promise.
You have never seen rejection? Then look, and always remember.
Writers never quit.
I've noted that some people use writing as a shield. They tell much, but show little.
If writers cannot handle a little critique, how will they handle bad book reviews?
Do not think of it as a hobby. Make it part of your day...part of your routine. Make it part of you.
I am beginning to see the appeal of this storytelling.
In writing, there is nothing more honorable than finishing.
You have fully written ten chapters. You may now publish.
Good story. Nice cover.
Words come later. It is the scent that first speaks of inspiration.
Less Facebook. More writing.
If you were any other author, I would edit you where you stand.
Procrastination should be illegal.
Writers do not pursue publishing. They conquer that which they desire.
At the first sign of betrayal I will kill him, but I promise to return the manuscript intact.
It is true. The muse has returned.
It is a manuscript, a warning. Beware, a successful author is about to arrive.
Push! Push, writer! Push!
My writing class was not like this. That process was very orderly.
You look for validation in the wrong place. The true test of a writer is not without, it is within.
He will succeed. He is Writer, a Storytelling Master.
I have much to teach you about revision!
Writing, I will not be complete without you.
Qapla'! You are a writer. You are capable of anything!
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Sunday, June 1, 2014
My dearest Myra,
What little I know of history suggests that the "season" of mourning lasts for a year--particularly when losing a spouse. I'm halfway through month number ten now and I ponder what makes the anniversary marker so significant. Pain this severe doesn't heal in a mere year. Perhaps the "year of grieving" is intended as much for the mourner's family and friends as anyone. It gives them the option of saying, "it hasn't been a year yet" as though the mourner can be excused until then.
I'm sitting on my deck this morning and I wonder. What happens afterwards? Will my license to grieve expire? Will my mourning privileges be revoked? Does sympathy become derision, an accusation that I refuse to move past it and get on with my life? Do they expect the hurt will magically cease on the 18th of July?
To this very day, tears come from nowhere in the span of a few blinks of the eye. Even now, the agony that simmers within boils to the surface without warning or even a logical provocation. When will I reach the day that I can rein in these unexpected emotional eruptions? Ever?
Perhaps "moving on" really is just choice. I don't know. I just don't see how healing can co-exist with these memories I dare not lose. I want nothing more right now than to wrap my arms around you and squeeze forever. Nothing! Just to whisper in your ear and see the answer in your eyes, I would trade the rest of my life for that one brief moment. God as my witness, Myra, I would.
I look back on my life with you and find that I am so very grateful for so many things. As with any marriage, we had our share of trials and hardships, but we had a rare devotion, one not experienced by many, I think. Nothing separated us. Nothing beat us. Every problem we faced made us stronger, more committed and made our bond of love deeper. Our mutual triumphs brought us mutual joys and enriched our union.
I do not have many of the regrets that other widowed spouses have. I see little shame and much satisfaction in our twenty-nine years. I see how we each made the other better. I see our mutual appreciation for what we both brought to our relationship and how we each enabled the other to grow and blossom, becoming the beauty we each saw budding within the other.
Is it then any wonder why I still grieve? How can my days in mourning be any fewer than the days that lie before me? And how can I hurt less on the year-plus-one day than on the first day I lived without you by my side? Some pains lessen with time, but this ache will last a lifetime.
Eternally cherishing you,
The one whose heart you'll always hold,