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?
Olympic hurdler, Olga Gyarmati, 1949 (Wikimedia Commons, source: Fortepans)
I thought, having lived for decades as a consciously identified feminist, that I was aware of most gender differences. And, having written for years I’ve thought–when I gave the subject of gender differences in writing my attention–that I was aware of how differences between men and women play out in our writing lives.
Well, I stand corrected.