It's been a crazy kind of day. Rainy and foggy. I've been hard at work on my Florida story - I'm having trouble getting the scenes down and the dialog right.
I realize all over again how very hard writing really is. I forget when I've been away from it for awhile. It only takes an hour of writing to remind me. Then it only takes one sentence to come together perfectly to remind me why I write. There's nothing like the feeling that embraces a writer when he gets it just right.
When I was having trouble pulling together a scene, I brought out my certificates and awards for contests I'd finaled in and spread them out across my desk. That's a confidence builder, believe me. I added the gold sparkley snail ornament my writing buddy Sherry gave me. It's to remind me that while the snail - me - is slow he always arrives at his destination.
Looking back on my accomplishments helps me to have the confidence to move forward on a project. To remind me that I can do the work.
We have to do whatever it takes to motivate us to do whatever our life's work is.
On my desk I have some things that make me feel good. I have a healing crystal that my daughter Lisa brought back from Sedona. I have an ordinary rock I brought back from the WV mountains from my friend Patti's property - I feel it's as healing as the Sedona crystal, maybe more so. I have a number of writing books that have improved my writing immensely.
I have a photo of myself and my husband. And I have photos of the grandbabies. Who doesn't feel better when they see a grandbaby? Or just a baby? I always have a quote or two. And then there's the photo of my mother who loved me unconditionally. Whether I wrote. Whether I sold. It didn't matter to her. She loved me. She's gone now but I still feel loved by her.
How can one not be successful at whatever he does when his mother loves him?
I didn't start this intending to end up here - with my mother. But my life started with her and this entry might as well end with her.
She gave me my wit and my way of looking at the world. Sometimes through a magnifying glass. Sometimes through rose colored glasses. Sometimes standing on my head.
Did you have a mother like that? Or not? What formed you? It's a good topic to blog about. Or not.