NaNo, You Know?

We are all hunkered down, each in his or her way. Pounding out 1,667 words a day if we're doing NaNoWriMo, or, if we're not doing NaNo, polishing our manuscript for querying, or getting up the nerve to start something new, or any other number of writerly things (including my favorite: lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling until the urge to run away fades). We love it. We love it all. Except when we hate it.

NaNoWriMo is the stuff of people's fantasies (our fantasies) of what it's like to be a writer. And because it's here, it's raising the big questions: Can I be a successful writer? Is it worth all the sacrifices? Am I totally, like, narcissistic and delusional to think I can do this? Am I letting the people I love down by focusing on my own needs? You know the rest.

Whether you've got a crazy schedule and kids to take care of, or simply sometimes ponder the sanity of your choice to be a writer, you need to believe in yourself and your choice. I went looking for answers from one of my favorite poets, Mary Oliver, and found the following beautiful poem. I hope it speaks to you, as it does to me, with love and reassurance. (And don't worry, your kids and spouse will still love you when you resurface and share yourself with them, even more, because you'll be more you.)

The Journey

by Mary Oliver

                                                One day you finally knew

                                                what you had to do, and began,

                                                though the voices around you

                                                kept shouting

                                                their bad advice—

                                                though the whole house

                                                began to tremble

                                                and you felt the old tug 

                                                at your ankles.

                                                "Mend my life!"

                                                each voice cried.

                                                But you didn't stop.

                                                You knew what you had to do,

                                                though the wind pried

                                                with its stiff fingers

                                                at the very foundations,

                                                though their melancholy

                                                was terrible.

                                                It was already late

                                                enough, and a wild night,

                                                and the road full of fallen

                                                branches and stones.

                                                But little by little,

                                                as you left their voices behind,

                                                the stars began to burn

                                                through the sheets of clouds,

                                                and there was a new voice

                                                which you slowly

                                                recognized as your own,

                                                that kept you company

                                                as you strode deeper and deeper

                                                into the world,

                                                determined to do

                                                the only thing you could do—

                                                determined to save

                                                the only life you could save.

Have a great journey, everyone.

~ Linda