I began writing again today.  I have a story to tell and I have to get it on to the page.  I can't continue to worry about no one wanting my novel.  I can only keep sending it out and hoping someone will want it.  However, the more of this marketing I do the more I become convinced that one needs an agent to find an agent.

I think I got myself unblocked by writing something else.  For years now I have sent out a tacky Christmas letter with all the activities of my family.  People often told me how humorous it was, but for the past few years since the girls grew up it was tired and mundane.  This year because of all the changes in my life I wrote a new letter, one of hope and dreams for the future.

I think writing that letter in combination with reading Kris Radish's book and lunch with my friend Chassily, put the whole thing into prospective for me.  Chassily's stuggles with getting words on the page helped me realize again that it is not the selling of the story which is important but the telling of it.  I have told the story in my novel, I now need to tell this story from my life.  And when I finish this story, I will move on to the next.  I am a writer and writers write stories.

Christmas letter

I haven't been here in a while.  I have been a human doing instead of a human being.  I just started a new book--Dancing Naked at the Edge of Dawn by Kris Radish.  I love her voice although she kind of rambles and loses me at times.  I read her stuff wondering how she knows what goes on inside my head.  She inspires me to stretch my wings.

I haven't worked on the memior.  I am afraid to start again.  I am afraid of Vista. I don't understand what my left pinkie finger does to get me in so much trouble.  I will try to keep it extended and not hit extranious keys.

I wrote my yearly tacky Christmas letter.  Last year when I wrote it I was on the edge of a major life change.  I didn't say anything in the letter.  I didn't want to be a downer at the holidays.  I suppose I was leaving myself an out just in case I didn't leave.  This year I felt I owed my family and friends an explanation of my inexplicable behavior.  I hope it satisfies them.

I was wondering what I would do with my time off at Thanksgiving.  I finally decided.  I am having dinner with my younger daughter and her family on Wednesday.  Thanksgiving Day I will watch the Macy's parade and go to the movies or write.  On Friday I am working a half day and then I am going to see a friend for the weekend.  I refuse to sit here feeling sorry for myself.  That wasn't why I left.

I have been off my plan for a while now.  Maybe it was the depression.  Maybe it was grief as the one year anniversay of my freedom approached.  Maybe it was exhaustion from all the legal wrangling.  Maybe it is just fall and I am going into hibernation mode.  Irregardless, the divorce will be final in a few weeks.  All that is left is gathering the remains of my things and returning the things which I inadvertantly took with me.  It is a poor end to thrity years together, but it is what I wanted.  Still it is sad.

Depression

I can't believe that I have fallen into this hole again.  As I look back at my blogs for the past few weeks I can see it happening again.  I had all these plans about what I wanted to do and where I wanted to go, and now I find myself slogging through life once again.

I don't know how this has happened or even what started it.  I think it began with losing the memior.  The task of starting over was just so overwhelming.  I had just been though all that with the novel.  I am getting rejection letters on that as well and it is hard to deal with.  I love my story but apparently others don't.  I know I have to be all right with that, but it is still difficult.

I am also reaching the end of a divorce.  All that is left now of 30 years of marriage is a trip to the courthouse to file the papers.  Other friends are going out, being asked on dates, and I sit here alone with my laptop playing hearts.  My adult daughters have their own lives and I not want to be an intruder on them.  I have four days off at Thanksgiving and I will be alone for most of it.  I am afraid Christmas will be just as bad.  I knew this would happen but it hurts none the less.  The pottery class I was looking forward to was cancled.  I feel increasingly isolated.

Maybe it is the laptop.  Before I got it, I would have to go to my desk and look out the window.  I could see the sky, the trees, and the cars passing on the road.  Maybe my easy chair is just too confining.

I had all these plans, but they have come to nothing.  Maybe I need Prozac or just a swift kick in the butt.

Next week I am getting a haircut; the first one in four years. I want to feel attractive.  I have signed to go to a medical conference in two weeks; I will talk to people.   I will get out of this chair and go sit at my desk.  I have another query letter to send out--this one will go to the person who will love my book.  I am going to Amsterdam with my cousins next summer.  I will get off this pity pot and make a life for myself.  I must start to concentrate on the positives.