In writing and life, I like to have goals, plans, a clear direction. And yet…I have little idea where I am going or what I am doing in my writing life these days. I’ve taken a few actions that seemed important at the time, but now, back from a long vacation, I’m confused as to my next step. I don’t think it’s here yet. Maybe I’m supposed to work on my mental, physical, and spiritual health, but most of that has generally involved some type of writing project.
The magazine I sent a great pitch to weeks ago still hasn’t called.
The competition I sent a great story to has still not awarded prizes.
I don’t know if the college will hire me to teach creative writing in the fall.
The only magazine I contribute to on a monthly basis just cut review rates in half.
The mother-in-law/daugter-in-law piece has ceased to excite me. The topic seems on the one hand invasive and on the other easily summed up as “complicated.” Those invasive details would make an interesting story but also betray family trust. So, that’s dead.
I’ve still got the WIP, so that’s something, although “what it is ain’t exactly clear.” These days it is all about embracing the mystery. And maybe losing a few bad habits, like always wanting to know what my next writing step will be.
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