A Self-Indulgent Check-in on Writing

I gave birth to a baby boy on June 3rd. At first, life was pure chaos and remembering to be gentle with myself, I allowed myself to focus solely on healing and trying to put my life back into some semblance of order, even if it’s a new order centered around this tiny little human (also sometimes known as monkey when he is smiling or little tragedy when he is crying). But by August, I told myself, enough was enough. Life was still chaos and it was no longer a valid excuse. I did not want my identity to be solely that of “mother” and I knew I had to get back to doing something for myself. So entered writing.

Like many others, I’m sure. I had a few false starts. Actually I had one huge false start. I was writing about something I knew well but not very passionate about. But eventually I got going, but of course, not without a lot of help.

I googled “how should I start writing?” and followed advice found

I joined a writers group. (The Insecure Writers Support Group)

I joined a critique circle.

I stalked some of my writer friends to see what they were doing and I found new writers I admired.

I connected with new writers.

I posted on Medium and joined publications.

I tried to brainstorm / write / edit every day.

I solicited feedback through my networks.

I thought about my stories and my world, when I’m feeding my child, when I am changing diapers, even that rare moment in the shower.

So, with the mantra in my head, “no shame, no shame”, I wrote my first then my second and so forth short stories. And today I just finished editing my fourth one for a short story contest — my first serious one.

Let’s take a moment to talk about short story contests. For me, they are terrifying in the hope they give. You dream about the validation you’d feel when you win. You dream about the win as a signpost saying “yes you were meant to do this.” And you dread the opposite. You imagine how utterly defeated you’d feel when you lose. You imagine the disappointment, the lump of coal at the pit of the stomach. You imagine wondering if you can ever write again.

I should at this point clarify and say that I have no illusions that I’ll win my first contest. Things don’t come that easily. It doesn’t mean I didn’t give it my best. (In fact, I think my fourth short story is the most well written one yet.) But I have not honed my craft yet. When I read other writers on Medium, their words seem to dance gracefully off the page to create vivid imagery whereas my own words feel like they are clumsily painting stick figures.

But again, that mantra remains in my head like a drill sergeant’s shout in the face. “No shame, no shame.”

So I keep putting myself out there every day, whether anyone is actually reading. Whether I will be winning any contests any time soon.

I owe it to myself.