validation
Writers are funny folk. Our work is solitary. Even when we surround ourselves with other authors, we do most of our work alone in some dark dismal corner of our own little universe.
Sounds a bit counterproductive because we need light to write. Well some of us do. I type with my eyes closed most of the time. Could explain my lousy spelling? No. I just can’t spell worth shit.
Like most artists, writers’ tend to be their own worst critics. We are never convinced our work is any good, or at least not good enough. Sometimes it isn’t. We’ve all written crap during our exploration of the craft. But still, occasionally, we create something we aren’t completely ashamed to have read aloud in public.
Like most artists, writers’ need validation. That validation can come in many forms. The day your family stops nagging you about wasting so much time on the computer with your little hobby, and starts nagging you to get back to work on your writing, is a moment of triumphant validation. Winning contests, selling something you’ve written, wowing your critique group with an awesome short story, are all moments of validation.
Still we doubt ourselves, our ability, our talent, our value.
Writing is not a nine to five job. We don’t punch a clock, or pick up a weekly paycheck. We get paid sporadically and usually in small amounts. I once received a check for $3 for a short story. Hey it was three dollars I didn’t have before the mail ran that day. And it was validation that my work had not gone unnoticed, unappreciated, or unpaid.
But every now and again I get a surprise validation. A check for a contest I had forgotten I had entered. An honorable mention from an extremely prestigious contest. A sale of a story I didn’t particularly care for myself but someone convinced me to submit it anyway. An “Oh my God!” from my daughter when she has just finished proofreading a new story.
Sometimes that jaw dropping, eye widening, expression of complete awe on the face of a reader is the most rewarding validation of all. It always surprises me when someone has that reaction to something I’ve written. It always makes me step back, look at myself in the mirror, and say to myself, “maybe I can write.” Of course an hour later I’m deleting an entire book I think sucks the big one.
But once in a great while, when someone gets that look of awe on their face, when my family nags me to get back to work, when I open an envelope in the mail and there is a check inside, when I get an email telling me I’ve just won another contest, I feel validated. I feel like it’s all worth it. I feel good about myself. I feel like I’m a real writer.
I feel that way today because I just won another first place at Whim’s Place for a flash fiction piece entitled, “In a Flash.” Unfortunately, Whim’s isn’t going to publish it on their web site this time. Their newsletter implied they may be going under. Which sucks!
Whim’s Place was a great paying market providing excellent exposure for their authors. I hate to see them fold. I encourage everyone to pay them a visit at www.whimsplace.com and encourage them to continue supporting and validating writers like me.
home again, home again
On my way to work Saturday, Oct. 20, severe pains stabbed me in the lower right abdominal area. No not appendicitis. I had a dying ovary. They cut me open, to remove the ovary, discovered tumors on my ovaries, uterus, bladder and abdominal wall, took biopsies, then closed me up again.
For the next four days I was terrified. My doctor seemed very certain it was cancer. Thankfully it wasn’t. I did have to have a total abdominal hysterectomy and a bladder suspension. I had needed the bladder fixed for years. Actually I had needed the hysterectomy for years. But you know nurses make the worst patients.
I had a couple of near death experiences. They had me on a continuous Morphine drip and I stopped breathing every time I fell asleep. Scared my mom to death. I tried to explain to the nurse that I thought I was being overdosed and I needed Narcan, but she thought I was just one of those nurses trying to dose herself.
Thank goodness my doctor didn’t agree with her. But before they had a chance to stop the PCA I accidently pulled the IV out trying to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. It probably saved my life.
I have to admit that the morphine did a great job of relieving the pain, but I had some bizarre hallucinations. One was about these three rats ducked taped to a black felt hat. They kept flipping the hat over. Really weird. Really comical according to my family. They are still making fun of my rats on hats.
My mom lives at Lake Texoma. She insisted I go home with her when I got out of the hospital. Probably the smartest thing I could have done. No one at home to take care of me. My mom waited on me hand and foot during my recovery. It was nice.
I love it at the lake. Except my parent’s boat is broken so we did not go fishing, not even once.
My dad has all these friends down there with boats, and they go fishing all the time, but not one of them invited us along during my visit. Not to mention that someone stole all my dad’s fishing poles and tackle boxes. What a bitch.
One of my parent’s friends brought us fresh catfish a couple of times. It was fantastic. Home fried, fresh catfish, right out of the lake is better than the finest cuisine from any five star restaurant in the world.
My sister, Chris, won two hundred bucks from the lottery while I was there. So my folks and I played the lottery unsuccessfully the next week. My niece, Brooke, babysat me while my parents went out gambling on Thursday nights. Gambling was a repetitive theme.
It didn’t rain while I was there. Which was a good thing because the lake is high. Not as high as it was a few months ago but still high.
It was a remarkably uneventful couple of weeks. That’s exactly the reason I enjoy the lake. I like the peace and quite. I like sitting on the porch for hours at a time doing absolutely nothing. I love the way time seems to slow down and almost stand still long enough to catch my breath. It truly is like living in another time period.
Of course it was really tough to be away from my baby boy and the internet for two weeks. I had some serious withdrawal symptoms. Started dreaming in HTML. Then I got home and my wireless wasn’t working. It’s going to take a month to catch up with all my e-mail, but I promise to get back to everyone as soon as possible.
Physically I’m getting better every day. Still tired. A trip to the grocery store nearly kicks my ass. My blood pressure has been completely out of control for about a month. It’s probably just stress. But otherwise I’m recovering physically.
