Monday, September 11, 2006
Some mornings the words flow and some mornings the words won't come, a little literary constipation in my day to bind things up. Then there are the days when the words are there but I cannot ferret them out or bring them to the surface the way they sound in my mind like a schizophrenic aphasia. Today is none of those but a feeling of words needing to be expressed that must wait until the working day is over because the work funds the time to write and a place to write and tools to use to write and a warm and comfortable (unlike today) place to write. These are the times that try writer's souls; my writer's soul.
My grandmother told me many times that my wants wouldn't kill me. She was right. Wanting to write didn't kill me, but writing is more than a want. Writing saved my sanity and my life at a time when I thought I couldn't go on another day, a time when death seemed preferable to being caged. For me, writing is as necessary as oxygen and water and food and sunlight. Even if no one sees what I write or ever reads it during my life time, it is just as necessary for me to continue living.
I have been struggling with finding the words for a contest. I don't enter a lot of contests because I have had neither the time nor the money but this morning as I write this I finally see the way through to the words I need for this one contest about writing and how to explain and quantify success. There are a few writers who read this journal and I wonder how they determine writing success. Is it being published or winning contests or is it something more, something less? I don't want to know why you write but how you, as a writer, measure success? Say anything.