Me:  I don’t really want to be a family that eats at Taco Bell on Saturday nights and uses plastic utensils at our St. Patrick’s Day feast.

Mike: Based on our past weekend, that’s exactly what kind of family we are.

I’ve been on edge this past week, like a tuning fork that’s been hit too hard and vibrates like mad and makes everything it touches start vibrating too.

I can say its because I’ve been waiting to hear back about some stories, because I’m waiting to hear back from some agents about my novel, because I DID hear back from one and he said, “I have reveiwed your manuscript and it is not ANYTHING I wish to work with at this time.”  I can say because I’m tired of waiting on spring, I can say….whatever.
There’s a quote in Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird: “I could resent the ocean if I tried” and isn’t that just the truth.

But, my edginess started affecting my behavior, and making me a person that I don’t want to be.  I’ve always prided myself on being a good critique partner.  For years I’ve encouraged, looked for what works, tried to be constructive with what doesn’t.  And yesterday I actually wrote to someone that I ‘expected more from them as a writer.’  Who the hell am I to say that?  How is that helpful?

And then, of course, when the writer explained a connection, I was like, “Oh, yeah, that’s really good.”  I’ve apologized for my first comments.  But, I can’t stop thinking about it. 

We are made from the choices we make.  I hurt myself too, I broke the contract that I’d made that said I would be empathetic and respectful of other people’s art.  I wasn’t careful. 

I understand why some people do vodka shots to take the edge off of life.  I can’t keep vibrating like this, existing in a hyper-sensitive state, but dulling the edges with alcohol isn’t really feasible for me.
I brainstormed a list of alternatives
                    I can exercise more — our hedgehog on his wheel as my inspiration.  Boy can run!
                    I can be more mindful of my behavior, erring on the side of caring
                    I can forgive freely, because I know I’m going to need it.
                    I can write more frequently in my gratitude journal.
                    I can admit to being human, to feeling things very intensely, to being disappointed that my art hasn’t found an audience.
                    I can acknowledge that its hard to feel like I have a purpose, that I’m making a difference in the world around me, when my words only sit inside my computer.
                    I can acknowledge that writing is a lonely pursuit.  It’s not like a painting that can be easily and quickly shared, a song that can be performed almost anywhere. 
                   And, after acknowledging, I can try to let it all go.  To bring my awareness back to my work, back to my family, back to a sense of love. 

WHAT?  I said TRY.  And, Happy Spring.


“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”  John 14:27


3 thoughts on “Vibrations

  1. There is nothing else to do when you are pinned down, shaken, and squashed by life, except to keep on trudging through the mud, hoping with all of your heart, forcing yourself to 'know' in your mind, that everything will work out, it will all get better: it has to.

  2. Such an honest post. If the novel and stories you are marketing are the same, they will find an audience. The agent who responded was just rude; he revealed himself as someone YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO WORK WITH ON ANYTHING. Be glad you found that out before signing a contract. Hang in there. It will happen. In the meantime, dance with your girls, sing at the top of your lungs, and write with your honest, insightful heart.

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