Disconnected

Telephone operators, 1952

Telephone operators, 1952 (Photo credit: Seattle Municipal Archives)

Time heals all wounds, time is money, time is the longest distance between two places, time is a great teacher, but unfortunately it kills all its pupils.  Huh. Google quotes about time, and the pages go on and on.  Everyone has something to say about time. Don’t waste it! Use it wisely! It’s relative!  It’s a nebulous concept, distorting our already biased perceptions.

I’ve been poking around the writers’ forum.  The other day, I tripped over my old username, which I hadn’t been able to remember when I rejoined, so I had created  a new one.  In keeping with the interests of procrastination, once I found it I ran a search for posts by the old name. The internetz, no such thing as gone for good.

Found a thread discussing looking for an agent, I had posted about receiving a request for a “full” based on a partial manuscript sent, the following day I posted about having received a request for a partial based on pages sent with a query.  If you’re reading and you aren’t a writer of fiction, let me tell you, that’s a wild with joy and nerves skip around the apartment until you notice the kids are in a frightened huddle in the corner worthy couple of days.  Another member posted on the thread saying I was someone to watch.  Quite a compliment.  The funny part?  Not only don’t I remember posting any of that, I don’t remember the compliment, or the happy dance I’m sure I stomped out for at least a week.

If I had come across the post in some other way without noticing the username, I would have stopped and studied the signature, following any links to see if this person was now published, with a novel(s) available on the market.  Talk about a disconnect.

I don’t wish I could go back to that time period, there were many other crappy things happening in my life that I don’t care to relive.  Hey, you don’t achieve this trajectory of downward mobility if you’re skipping through the daisies each day.  But I do wish I could sift the sands of that time period, find the grains that represent the writing me, and just put those grains in my pockets, so when I’m frustrated I could touch them, roll them between my fingers and against my cheek, to remind myself of the possibilities.

Lakota storyteller: painting.

Lakota storyteller: painting. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

17 comments

  1. I have lost and found and lost and found my previous writing/ambitions/queries/encouraging letters from publishers too (some in hard copy and some electronic). It has been disconcerting to ‘read’ my past self!
    Brilliant post!

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  2. So what happened? did you send them off? then what?
    One writer I follow who is published said something once that made me realise on many levels I am not a writer. Sure I love to waffle on and I sometimes have a nice way with words but I do not have a compulsion to write. not real write a story into a book writing.
    She said her experience of being a writer is she is complelled to write, come hell or high water, time issues or an adverse wind direction.. she will sit up in the middle of the night writing if no other time has presented itself and reading that I realised. I am not a writer. its a chore to me, an elusive creature that is happy to post on my blog but hides the moment I try to get serious with it.

    I have stopped beating myself up about it now.

    You on the other hand seem to have the idenity as a writer in your blood, a feeling it’s who you are. do you think thats true?

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    1. LOL, of course I sent them off. 😉 In fact, I think that’s one thing your friend missed. Writers want to be read. (During that time period, I received several requests for fulls, with resulting “positive” rejections–those are complimentary about certain aspects but ultimately not-right-for-us. Maybe I would have hit had I kept going, but the rest of life made it impossible to give it the attention needed at that time.)

      The road to publication is equal parts talent, craft, and persistence, imo. Different types of writers for different types of writing.

      Is writing a part of my identity? Absolutely. When I’m writing regularly, yes, those characters wake me up whispering subplots, twists, and revision ideas, lol.

      Is it automatic that being a writer means being a writer forever? I just don’t know. Harper Lee never published again after To Kill a Mockingbird. Certainly, I wouldn’t dispute that she was a writer (even with those nasty rumors re how much help was given to her by Truman Capote). Then again, for all I know she wrote 50 other manuscripts and used them all as fire starters, intimidated by her initial success.

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        1. It is a lot of hard work. That’s why you see steam coming out of the ears of any author when they’re told, “I have a great idea. I’ll tell it to you, and then we’ll share the profits 50/50.”

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  3. Sometimes I read things I’ve written before and they are so much better than I remembered them to be (and I’ve never gotten a request for anything at all). Sometimes I wonder what happened to that writer. I don’t think she’s in there any more. I think someone more cautious, more seasoned, has taken her place.

    I think it’s a good thing.

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    1. I think she is. I’ve read a lot of your words over the years, and you, my friend, are a writer, whether it’s something you pursue or not.
      Funny, at first glance I read the word “seasoned” as “censored.” Is there such a thing as a Freudian skim? You’ve given me much food for thought, intentional or otherwise. 🙂

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  4. Why did this make me cry? I don’t think it was supposed to. But it made me think of something recent that bumped me up against a “past me”. Won’t go there.

    You, my dear friend, are are true writer. The fact that you can evoke so much with your words (among other things) proves it I think. And your tenacity to keep going back to it no matter what’s thrown at you.

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    1. It definitely wasn’t supposed to make you cry.
      Frankly, I’m pleased it didn’t make me cry. I am done crying. Can’t say I won’t whine or sniffle, but Mrs Fringe is a sob free zone. 😉

      Thank you. I’m very lucky to have some good friends demonstrating tenacity and bravery, every day. ❤

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      1. Hormones seem to make more things than usual do that to me lately and I’m in a rough place. I need to find more strength, get what I can from the “Before” as you mention (i liked your comparing it to grains of sand to keep) and get the good I can from it and move on from the rest.

        I am VERY glad you are keeping on forward. 🙂 .

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        1. The hormones–ugh! I CAN honestly promise that gets better. 🙂

          It is so damned tricky. It isn’t like we can close the door on the crappy stuff (for lack of a better phrase), but I have to believe we can opt to not let it paralyze us forever. ❤

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  5. What an interesting window into your earlier self. I think it’s a cool encouragement that you have a lot in the tank – creatively speaking. You are back at it an working on the process – forward motion with a nice kick from the past.

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