I've been a bit quiet the past few weeks, not only on this blog but in real life. My days comprise a small reliable orbit around home, yoga class and Checkers (great bargains people, seriously, my grocery bill is a matter of pride). The rest of the time, I write. It's a crude process of creative input, followed by creative output. Like running a marathon, it's regular and intensive, with an unquestioning rhythm that must be held else all momentum will be lost.
But let me start close to the beginning. My writing journey so far is a conflicting story of dizzying highs and moments of feeling invincible, then periods of relentless failure. In 2013, my first book was almost published before it all fell apart, and now in 2016, my second book went through the review process at a local publisher to be rejected as well. Not that I was too upset - the communication I had with them convinced me that they are not the publisher for me in any case. And I'm one of those people always looking forward, to the next book, the next publisher, the next dream.
So I carried on with writing my next book, which is better than anything else I've written up till this point. I carried on not because I think getting published solves everything, or because I stand to earn a significant amount through my writing, but because it is the one thing I know how to do. After I put down any book I am reading at night, my mind takes up where my eyes left off and writes the rest. I dream in stories.
The reality of writing is an unromantic one. I spend hours in front of my computer getting it done. I don't leave the house. I have taken on less clients so I can finish my book which means I am currently making every cent I have stretch, and then stretch some more. Emotionally, I research upsetting content all day and sometimes don't see people enough.
But I know this: I want to write more than I want to go to gym or lose weight. I want to write more than spending hours styling my hair. I want to write more than earning enough money to buy beautiful clothes. When you're doing the thing you love, when you're getting so close to doing your best, everything else in the world is imbued with alarming perspective.
The other day, I got an email about my new book. I don't want to say much because I don't want to jinx anything, but it's given me hope. I still have a chance. As long as I keep writing, I always will. So I'll be back soon, but for now I'm out here writing for my life.