Commitment Report Vol XIX

Morning everyone. I hope you’re all having a good weekend and that you’ve got lots of good things going your way. I’ve been a little on the quiet side lately. Being sick last week prompted some serious reflection on my part, and I have been more focused on getting things done and spending time with my loved ones than being social. That is not to say I haven’t missed my social self, but sometimes it is better for the soul to settle into itself and be quiet. So I’m hushed.

I am also preparing to head up to Toronto to spend two weeks with my fiance, James, and then he’s coming back home with me for an early holiday. I’m sure I will be in touch from there, but probably not as often, as I will be focusing heavily on my work and my writing while I’m there. I have a lot of work to do to get my novel finished, especially since I only just barely reached the halfway point and have sort of fallen out of the NaNo drive to sloppily slap together 50,000 words in 30 days or less. That’s not to say I am not still tracking my progress. I may just make that 50,000 word mark yet. The fat lady still has eight days before she starts to sing.

So, I am still committed. I still have the end of my novel in sight, and will finish it when the time is right. I am committed to that and to myself.

The thing is, in my recent quiet reflections, I started to ask myself why I write. Of course, the easy answer is always there. Since I was a kid, I’ve always known that I had to write. It’s what I was born to do. A conversation with someone I thought I respected immensely sparked a series of thoughts in my mind concerning my reasons for pushing myself to the point of confusion about my writing. Yes, I would love more than anything in the world to be an established writer earning my living through the words I create. I just can’t turn that into my sole purpose for writing. If I did, I know the muse would abandon me in a heartbeat, and while I might pump out a few things that sold, my soul would never be in my work. If there is no soul in your work, it falls flat, no matter how much you push it to succeed.

So… I must write because I love to tell stories to the world, not because I think there is some big payoff in the words. If a payoff occurs because I’m fortunate enough to be granted the opportunity to share my words with the world, fantastic. But focusing on the payoff cannot be what motivates me.

I also wrote a poem last night I wanted to share on my blog. I hope you enjoy it. I didn’t record it, as I continue to have bizarre computer issues this week that have limited me from some of my favorite computer activities. Hopefully, over the next few weeks, many of my computer issues will be effectively sorted, and I’ll be back in full swing and enthusiasm. I also hope you’ll bear with me until then.

Underneath the ashes
of a lifetime full of pain
lies an ember in the dark
that whispers my name
and speaks to me of hope
like some undying refrain
from a song so long-forgotten
it barely sounds the same
and yet I let it cull me
let it seep into my brain
like the dying leaves of autumn
soaking up the rain.

Culminating life from the rot
so it stirs beneath the earth
fertilizing seeds of love
inspiring great mirth
as the ember becomes fire
igniting my rebirth
so that like a phoenix
from the ashes with a whir
I rise to claim myself
and recognize my worth.

Happy writing to all my writing friends, and for those of you who don’t write, but have commitments to yourself nonetheless, my the force be with you.

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