I'm feeling down and discouraged. My health has been deteriorating in ways that are scary. My kids are out of control with spring fever, my house is a wreck, I have to work on this white paper but I'm hating it more every day. I have a lesson to prepare for writers group Wednesday, and the wonderful dear person I'm trying to collaborate with is going to wonder why I haven't been working on the book to our musical. And I feel I really need to write cards or letters to a few people and I never get around to it.
And in the middle of all this, Satan Herself starts another firestorm over the Easter break that #1 Son gets this year: "What do you mean, I don't get to take all 6 days instead of the usual 1?" Nevermind that the court docs specify 1 day. Whatever Miss Thing wants, Miss Thing had better get, or there'll be... well you know what to pay. And #1 Son doesn't want to get in the middle of it, though he's the only one who can. And he's whining that he still has homework to do even though it's bedtime as if it's my fault he spent 45 minutes on the phone to Miss Thing about nothing in particular and as if it's my fault he didn't do his homework over the weekend because after all, it was his time with Mommy and there were all these parties to go to...
I'm about ready to crawl into a hole and cry. I can't succeed at the tasks before me no matter what I do, the pain is driving me slowly mad, and I'm a failure as a mother. That's how I feel.
Well, felt. As he was lying on the bed kicking me in the face during storytime tonight, Punkin Boy started singing, "Old King Cole." My mind grabbed hold of that; the old boy apparently was an ancestor of mine-- a rather successful Norwegian king back in the far olden times. And suddenly, I remembered where I come from. I come from the land of Valkyries, of strong warriors and successful raiders. I come from people who would spit on the minor troubles that surround me now. I felt them then, Vikings in armor swirling around my head, strong, defiant, utterly capable.
Hand me my axe; I've got some writing to do.
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5 comments:
The mountain cannot bow to the wind, no matter how it howls.
You are firm and steadfast. And the pain, all of it, is nothing more than the wind.
"I sound my barbaric YAWP over the rooftops of the world" - Walt Whitman
Hang in there.
I knew I could count on you guys to get into the spirit of it. :)
Whenever I hear the Valkyries music, I can't help but also hear Elmer Fudd singing, "Kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit!" Too much TV as a child.
However, once I get past the Fudd soundtrack...I can fully appreciate your tribute to your ancestry, and I urge you to hearken to that call from within!
Your sister sent me over! She tells me that you're an editor and a fellow NaNoWriMo participant! So get working on that white paper! :)
I hope you feel a lot better. Pain just makes everything else a lot harder.
I'm trying to get my manuscript represented by an agent. If you have any tips/advice, I'd love to hear them/it!
Thanks, Jen. ;-)
Welcome, Carmen, and thanks for the kind words. My best advice for getting your work represented is to find a really good editor. Trend lately is that nobody in the publishing business actually edits manuscripts anymore, so they've got to be practically perfect before they get published.
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