Looking up my Past

 I guess I could have pursued my writing career, but I really didn’t have the will to do it.  I had so much trouble with my beginning, with the novel I published, and everyone in publishing seemed not to care, which is true.  But I let Renata Stendhal derail my career, and then I stopped trying to publish, until the novel about the brother and sister in Texas, which I thought had potential.  Then my daughter got sick, my momentum was lost, and I quit.  I have not been able to Pull myself together to try again since.  I kind of feel like it’s too late.  

But what it about me that makes everything too late?  I just get discouraged when I should be persistent.  It’s a fault of my upbringing, I guess.  Anything other than housewife is too tricky for me.  I don’t like this about myself, not even a little bit.  I quit.  I always have quit.  I am not a person who follows through.  I can kick myself in the butt, but not enough to keep pursuing my goals.  I don’t like myself,  

Now I am trying to work on a new piece, this reexamining of my life after my strokes, but I’m not sure if the truth about me is of any interest to anyone outside of myself.  

Can we remake ourselves?  I don’t really know.  I know I am different, but is it enough to let me pursue a new adventure in my seventies?  Only time will tell.

Comments

  1. Museum AmySeptember 19, 2022 at 9:45 AM

    I'm having trouble writing now, too. But you did finish the Master's, teach successfully (many completed semesters), and take on as well as complete the planning of many trips, family events, etc. Those count!

    ReplyDelete

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