Women’s March On Chicago 1/21/17 (photo author)
It’s five weeks since Donald Trump assumed the office of the presidency of the United States.
It feels like more. A lot more.
President Obama was quoted, soon after Trump took office, as saying that he was heartened by the uptick in political activity that surfaced after the election, and exploded in the days immediately following January 20th.
I have lived through dark days in American history, and have witnessed, and partaken in, dissent, protest, and organizing.
But I have never seen what we’ve seen for weeks: an outpouring of agitation, discussion, organizing, and protest across the country. I have had moments of pride and amazement as I’ve watched resistance to the Trump administration involving every demographic within our borders and beyond.
Throughout all of this, I’ve struggled.
Chicago Botanic Garden, 10/16 (photo by author)
Autumn, glorious autumn. Glorious or not, autumn is not always a time dear to my heart.
Well, it is dear to my heart, my everyday heart that absolutely loves autumn. But not dear to my writer’s heart. And perhaps, writers, you recall or can guess why.
(Image by author)
Writers, I have put down my pen for much of this August and am reading.
It’s been wonderful, deliciously so, to allow myself big chunks of time each day to just read. I have a list as long as my arm of novels and stories I’ve been wanting to tackle, and am thoroughly enjoying working my way down the list!
But not all is delightful.
Like all writers, I have a life. That is, a life apart from writing. I know, it can be hard to believe that writers can find the time and resources to earn degrees, land jobs, fall in love, marry, buy houses, produce children, pay taxes, unclog drains, and weed the garden.
That our lives, on the outside, can appear so boringly, or brightly, normal to the casual viewer.
Blue Dancers, Edgar Degas, c 1899
What happened on Wednesday?
For starters, bored with a story that wasn’t coming together, at least not in the way I want, I took an abrupt writerly turn and with little planning or forethought, pulled out of the dusty bins of my laptop a story that I wrote some time ago.
Some time ago? I wrote this particular story years ago.
Selfridge’s Department Store, London, 1942 (image Wikimedia Commons)
Writers, it hurts.
I know; I’ve been there, and I’m there now. As I said in an older post, rejections are raining!
The good news about this is that it means I’ve been submitting a lot as of late. The bad news is…Well, there are a number of bad things that fall out of receiving rejections.
Rookery Building, Chicago, main staircase (Image by author)
It’s October. Writers, we know what that means, right?
Of course, it’s submission season! The time of year all writers look forward to!
How can we not?