Entry tags:
Emerging from family events
I've been rather quiet on LJ lately because we do a lot of family get-togethers in the week between Christmas and New Years. Our last hurrah for the holidays is our annual Twelfth Night breakfast; we'll probably take the decorations down after that. (I'd like to make this Twelfth Night cake, but alas, the girls will probably veto it since (horrors!) it has fruit in it. I'll have to come up with something else.)
It turns out Rob's new job will start next week; it took awhile for all the paperwork to get processed. Meanwhile he's getting stuff done around the house that he's been promising to finish for months now.
I've been thinking about New Years and resolutions, as I do every year. My weight took a real jump this past month, partly due to the holidays, of course, and partly, I suspect, due to stress eating--I was really worried about the unemployment coming to an end. I'm not being too hard on myself about it, but I've decided to start tracking my calories again on SparkPeople, and upping my exercise program again, including adding the weight-lifting back in (I'd let it slide when I started biking and especially after the gall bladder surgery, and I never really picked it up again). I think I'll be able to get back down under 150 before too long.
But about self-assessment in general: Kij has been talking to me the past couple of weeks about needing to take a hard look at her own life, trying to figure out what she needs to do. Something she said stuck in my mind, the need to be honest and to face the stuff you've been avoiding. I've been thinking about that this week. What about me, what have I been avoiding facing?
I think the truth that I've avoided saying is that the conviction has been growing in me that I don't think I'm ever going to write a novel again. I don't know why, but the fire I used to have in me to write fiction has gone out. Kij and I talked about it this morning; I said that for so many years I thought of myself as a writer (and for me, that meant specifically a writer of published fiction). Facing this realization means facing the fact that the way I use to identify myself must change--even as I acknowledge a point that several people on my friends list have made to me repeatedly (
cakmpls I think, specifically)--that what I perhaps need to do is to quit thinking of myself in terms of what I do (I am a fiction writer, I am a karate student). It's less mind messing is just to accept myself as myself--I am Peg. There are various things I do--I wrote novels in the past, right now I'm studying karate. I may or may not do these various things in the future, but I don't need to let that cause a corresponding upheaval in my own identity.
This realization feels quite sad, although I am, of course saying never say never. Maybe a great novel idea will mug me when I'm in my mid-fifties that I'll absolutely have to write.
But where I am right now, I don't really see it happening.
So I'm putting it out there. The most absurdly neurotic part of myself wonders if there will be a mass unfriending as a result ("Peg says she's not going to write fiction anymore??! My god, why have I have been wasting my valuable time reading her stupid blathering journal? *Defriends immediately*") But fortunately the wiser and mature part of myself realizes that this fear is neurotic; in fact it's absolutely ridiculous. If you were going to defriend my journal because I'm not producing publishable fiction, you'd have done it months ago. Heck, it's been blindingly obvious for months now that's not what this journal is about anymore anyway.
So we simply continue on as we have before. I write essays here. I go to karate. I try to cook dinners my family will deign to eat. I garden. I face the dark and try to reach for the light. I make wry observations. I natter on (and on! and on!) about my extremely silly obsessions. I try to be a better person--wiser, more empathetic, more thoughtful, more politically aware.
I live my life. And it's a pretty good life. I tell you about it. Or as least as much about it as Elinor Dashwood wants to share.
You read. Or not.
Your choice.
It turns out Rob's new job will start next week; it took awhile for all the paperwork to get processed. Meanwhile he's getting stuff done around the house that he's been promising to finish for months now.
I've been thinking about New Years and resolutions, as I do every year. My weight took a real jump this past month, partly due to the holidays, of course, and partly, I suspect, due to stress eating--I was really worried about the unemployment coming to an end. I'm not being too hard on myself about it, but I've decided to start tracking my calories again on SparkPeople, and upping my exercise program again, including adding the weight-lifting back in (I'd let it slide when I started biking and especially after the gall bladder surgery, and I never really picked it up again). I think I'll be able to get back down under 150 before too long.
But about self-assessment in general: Kij has been talking to me the past couple of weeks about needing to take a hard look at her own life, trying to figure out what she needs to do. Something she said stuck in my mind, the need to be honest and to face the stuff you've been avoiding. I've been thinking about that this week. What about me, what have I been avoiding facing?
I think the truth that I've avoided saying is that the conviction has been growing in me that I don't think I'm ever going to write a novel again. I don't know why, but the fire I used to have in me to write fiction has gone out. Kij and I talked about it this morning; I said that for so many years I thought of myself as a writer (and for me, that meant specifically a writer of published fiction). Facing this realization means facing the fact that the way I use to identify myself must change--even as I acknowledge a point that several people on my friends list have made to me repeatedly (
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
This realization feels quite sad, although I am, of course saying never say never. Maybe a great novel idea will mug me when I'm in my mid-fifties that I'll absolutely have to write.
But where I am right now, I don't really see it happening.
So I'm putting it out there. The most absurdly neurotic part of myself wonders if there will be a mass unfriending as a result ("Peg says she's not going to write fiction anymore??! My god, why have I have been wasting my valuable time reading her stupid blathering journal? *Defriends immediately*") But fortunately the wiser and mature part of myself realizes that this fear is neurotic; in fact it's absolutely ridiculous. If you were going to defriend my journal because I'm not producing publishable fiction, you'd have done it months ago. Heck, it's been blindingly obvious for months now that's not what this journal is about anymore anyway.
So we simply continue on as we have before. I write essays here. I go to karate. I try to cook dinners my family will deign to eat. I garden. I face the dark and try to reach for the light. I make wry observations. I natter on (and on! and on!) about my extremely silly obsessions. I try to be a better person--wiser, more empathetic, more thoughtful, more politically aware.
I live my life. And it's a pretty good life. I tell you about it. Or as least as much about it as Elinor Dashwood wants to share.
You read. Or not.
Your choice.
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may the new year bring you financial calm and much joy, whatever you are doing.
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I added you years ago because OMFG PEG KERR, who wrote that haunting, beautiful novel that helped kick out some of my Catholic school confusion about sexuality! I read you today because I like Peg Kerr, the beautiful, complex, and fascinating woman who inspires me.
I'd love it if you wrote more books, partly because it'd be a great book but mostly because you would derive a great deal of happiness from having accomplished it. But it seems as though it's caused more pain than happiness for awhile now, and so I'm really happy for you that you came to this decision. :) Maybe someday you'll write and publish again. (Hey, maybe a book about karate will pop into your head and demand to be written!) But for now your focus is karate, raising two lovely girls, and enjoying your time here. That's how it should be.
I am really happy you seem to be finding some balance and contentment.
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I love your entries. It's like a cosy peek into the window of your life, and I love it, even though I know some of those times are so frustrating for you. I have no children of my own, and it gives me great joy to hear about your girls growing into such lovely young ladies (particular eating habits and all!).
I think you live your life well. And when you come to the end of it, you will have nothing to be ashamed of. I don't know whether you'll have anything to regret, but with the way you go for things like karate and such, I rather doubt you'll have much, if anything, to regret.
How many of us can say that?
You just keep writing. . .I think you'll have plenty of us who keep reading.
*sends bunches and bunches of good thoughts your way*
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I hope you'll change your mind someday.
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And as long as you keep writing in this journal, you're a writer. At least, to me you are.
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/sarcasm
Interestingly, as someone who knows you only through the written word, I care far more about the words in this virtual space than the book that's sitting on the shelf in the other room. Swans is really a beautifully executed novel, and I do love it, but I read it *after* I was pointed to your journal by a friend who told me "here's a fascinating woman who is a mom and has all kinds of great reflections on being a parent and is also a great writer so her journal is very interesting to read. oh, and she's published a couple of books." Maybe it's because I (virtually) knew you first through this format, but I'm delighted to keep reading your journal, because I love to hear about how the girls are doing and how karate class went and what you managed to feed to whom for dinner and how you transported yourself and your creative lunch to work. And kudos to you for naming and claiming where you are. And grieving too; any change in identity means a loss of something, and owning that is authentic and honest, which is of course what I love aobut your journal the most.
And yeah, I'm hoping that the ten pound jump on the scale this morning over last month's numbers is a fluke. Still, re-committing to SparkPeople is on my list of things to do this week as well. It's a good system if I use it.
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As long as you're posting here I will read, and gladly. Your posts are amusing, thought-provoking, and evocative, and I am always glad to see them.
I read.
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And while I'm here, let me wish you a happy, healthy 2008 in which there are changes for the better, and more of the good stuff you already have.
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Seriously, it's tough taking a hard look at the labels we have applied to ourselves for a long time and seeing that some of them don't quite fit any more. It's even harder to be honest about them, and damn difficult to admit publically that they don't all work like they used to. Kudos to you for doing all three -- that ain't easy, or common.
What you are isn't as important as who you are. You are simply shedding some of the what while retaining true to the who. How can that be wrong?
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*gentle snort*
I guess if it were all about the writing I'd have to unfriend myself. It has been an awfully long dry spell. The ideas are still there, but for some reason the lust is gone. (Not English 'lust' but German, meaning something like "desire, take joy in, delight in"--don't have an exact translation but my brain knows what I mean by it. There are some German words that stick with me, I find, years after being an exchange student and learning to think and dream in that language, that better express a feeling than English, at least for me. And wasn't that last bit a painfully convoluted sentence? *softly snorks at self*)
There are seasons, and it's limiting to tie your identity to such a thing. Creativity has so very many forms, and novel-writing is only one of them.
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Now see, me, I'm going through the "Am I good enough to try to get published?" thing.
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But now I just love reading what you write because you live such a full life. You do so many things, and you've built such a beautiful family, and you make it all work, and fiction or no fiction, you're one of the most impressive people I've ever read.
I think I'd like to meet you one day.
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But second, I don't quite believe in "ars longa, vita brevis". Vita, while you're in the middle of it, goes on for quite a long time - from a subjective viewpoint, for all the time there is. You don't *have* to say always and never about it, especially for things like writing that you can do at any age; you can just say that you wrote fiction in the past, you don't seem to have a drive to write fiction right now, who knows what will happen in the future?
(Edited to add a crucial missing verb.)
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