Since late October 2013, I’ve posted only once on this blog and that’s because my hopes—plans for it—have gone awry.
When I began this writing blog back in September 2012, I had high hopes of sharing with you my adventures with publishing. I’d seek an agent for the novel I was writing and explore that search with you.
The agent would find a publisher/editor and I’d let you know about today’s contracts and negotiations.
The manuscript would go through the publishing process and I’d have a title and cover that you and I could ooh and ah over. Then would come publication and together we’d climb aboard our luge and zoom down the slope of sells and reviews, of readings and signings, of working with social media and the publisher’s marketing department.
Only one part of that has happened—the agent search last September, October, and November. I’ve e-queried many agents but found no one interested in a historical novel about Palestine in the first-century of the CE.
Wanting to be published again, I thought perhaps that a memoir might have a better chance of interesting agents and editors. And so I set out in January to collate all my convent stories from my on-line memoir blog Coming Home to Myself. I realized I had many more stories to tell about those nine years, and I hoped to do so this year.
Because life happens, I haven’t done any collating or writing since the new year began. Moreover, I find myself loath to begin. The project just seems boring to me. And my best writing has always come from the wellspring of my own passion and curiosity.
What I’m both passionate and curious about right now—and what has held my interest since sixth grade when we studied ancient history at St. Mary’s Grade School—is Bronze Age Greece. Last summer I worked on a first draft for a novel that takes place there in around 1250 BCE. It may be the first book in a trilogy or I may just continue writing and tell the whole story in a longer book.
I know, deep down, that the writing itself is the bread, the sustenance. And that getting published is the slathering on of creamy butter. The first is more important than the second. And yet, I do so love butter!
However, getting publishing—if that ever happens again—is in the distant future. So that leaves little to write about here. And that was what I wanted to share with you.
Thus, I’ve decided to cease writing on this blog. Anything I have to say about my writing life will go on the other blog, which is, of course, the story of my life. Writing has been a big part of that story. So there is some serendipity here.
One of the new adventures in my life is memorizing poetry again as I did when I was in my teens. The poem I’m memorizing right now is “Ulysses” by Alfred Lord Tennyson. It ends with these lines:
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts.
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield
Those words speak to me and convey what motivates me to continue writing. I have stories to tell—on my memoir blog and in manuscripts. I trust that the blog postings will be read. And I trust also that if my writing is for the good of the Universe, it will be published. But I have no control over that. I have control only over what I do and how I respond to the vicissitudes of life.
What I will do is write when I have the time and health and inclination. I will strive, seek, find. There is no yielding when one’s desire to do something leads them to great happiness in the very doing. As to the uncertainty of life—I’m in for the long haul!
Thank you for following this blog through the past year and a half. Let’s hold each other’s heartwishes in our visualizations, prayers, and thoughts. May all we do be for the good of the Universe. Peace.
Photographs from Wikipedia.