But, I made a lot of progress on it! I even know how I am going to finish it, finally. I did a lot of editing and re-plotting and made some interesting discoveries along the way-- isn't it funny how these stories find a way of writing themselves, taking you down paths you never knew you would walk? I will finish it eventually, and it was not from lack of wanting to finish or writer's block.
The real reason I did not finish my novel is simple: I got a teaching job.
When I first decided I was going to finish and epublish my novel I was in a dark place. My job was winding down and the pressure of unemployment was weighing heavily. I was not going to fall into another bout of clinical depression though-- I was going to take all that trauma and turn it into something positive. I was not going to twist myself into the emotional wreck that was so characteristically me. I was going to tread this sea of uncertainty with grace and dignity. Joblessness seemed like an unavoidable obstacle, and applying to teaching jobs seemed more like a duty and a formality. I sent out packets to schools in every direction, and for months I heard nothing. Resigning myself to the fact I would just have to find something to fill time, and more importantly my checking account, in the fall, I instead saw this an a wonderful opportunity to focus on rediscovering my creative, imaginative self. If I did not have a teaching job I find some temporary, bullshit job, and just focus on writing, right? At least if I had a terrible job, for the first time, it would not feel like it might be my fate forever. I had options now-- I was educated and certified, and icing on the cake, slightly experienced. And, it would not be a terrible job compounded by full time schooling. That was almost a new experience for me to think that even if I spent all day at a crappy, thankless job, I could at least come home an decompress instead of annotating the readings and typing papers. The whole plan seemed brilliant!
For so very long, I had denied what is clearly an inherent side of myself. I am always writing, whether the words actually hit paper or blink into existence on a Word document, or not. Not a single day goes by that I don't catalog a name, a place, an experience, a color, an event, a word, a song, a feeling into my head for later use. What I believe makes me a writer, prevents me from not being a writer, is my incessant observation. I take in everything, and for the most part I remember it. I love words, and I love forming them into feelings and expressions. It makes me whole. It's how I dissect and comprehend the world-- by breaking into down into digestible pieces and explaining my impression of it through words. The fact that it can be interpreted and appreciated by any other sentient being is extraordinary to me, because it almost feels like I am the only person for whom I am writing.
So, I got serious about writing. I have been studying and honing this craft for so long, now I was going to actualize it. I made a weekly schedule and I stuck to it. I wrote in shifts every single day. I fixed old, junky, terrible passages and I wrote new, astonishing pieces. I woke up early, stayed up late. I found inspiration in unknown places. I went once a week to my favorite coffee shop, pressing pen to paper, sipping coffee and tea, and people watching.
It was a glorious month. And, it would have continued, and I might even have finished my book if something happened that I had convinced myself was an impossibility.
After months of silence, I got a phone call about an interview.
Then, I got two more.
Three interviews in five days totally through off my schedule.
Then, I got another phone call offering me a job.
Suddenly, the objectives of my entire summer shifted. Now I had to think about planning for classes, preparing my room, buying supplies, and most importantly, expanding my teacher wardrobe! How would these new kids understand my spunky, quirky nerdliness if I did not express it through adorable plaid dresses with tights and polka dot cardigans! There was no time!
Next week starts my tenure at Beardstown which I hope will be both long and satisfying. I don't even feel like a failure about not finishing, because I feel like I am just trading one delayed success for another. Either way, one of my dreams would have been deferred-- whether it was furthering my teaching career or starting my writing career.
I know that eventually I will accomplish both-- I am to stubborn not too.
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