Because Imaginary Christopher Nolan Said So
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Somehow the cameo appearance by Christopher Nolan in my dream last night (if I remember correctly, it turned out not to be him and I was the victim of "catfishing"--boo), has given me a boost in much needed writing inspiration.
As evidenced by the frequency of my posts in the last, oh two months, my writing life has stalled. The reasons, both good and bad ones, for my lack of writing have driven me into a permanent state of frustration. And of course, the turning over of the new year has done nothing but reminded me of how little I've accomplished in the last. Aren't I supposed to be filled with bushy-tailed, bright-eyed jubilee at the chance to start afresh?
Well, the new year greeted me with another story rejected. A story that has been 3 years in the works and while it's still beginning the submission process, the first arrow struck right at the heart. This time I didn't cry (growth!) and I didn't push aside all my papers and watch TV all day (more growth!). I made a pouty face, re-read my year's mantra and sat down to work on my book.
My mantra comes from a battered version of My Utmost for His Highest by ye old Oswald Chambers that I use less as a daily devotional and more as a kind of spiritual horoscope.
So I blog again. What does that have to do with Christopher Nolan? When I get really depressed about how little I have accomplished, sometimes I imagine meeting the people I admire one day and finding out that they are fans of my work. Maybe for me, it helps to have imaginary people to impress when it's just me and this stupid laptop day in and day out. Why, Mr. Nolan, I'm so flattered that you loved my book and ripped it from the hands of your children and read it in your garage laboratory instead of working on that mind-portal-sixth-dimension-space-western you're writing. And you want to buy the film rights? Well, you'll have to talk to my agent about that.
And that's why I'm wearing a party dress and heels to write this chapter and not my robe and pjs, because imaginary Christopher Nolan believes in me so I must toil and creep to the finish line. Happy delusions, friends. And try to surround yourself with positive imaginary influences. Imaginary Sean Penn is such a downer...
Yours,
As evidenced by the frequency of my posts in the last, oh two months, my writing life has stalled. The reasons, both good and bad ones, for my lack of writing have driven me into a permanent state of frustration. And of course, the turning over of the new year has done nothing but reminded me of how little I've accomplished in the last. Aren't I supposed to be filled with bushy-tailed, bright-eyed jubilee at the chance to start afresh?
Well, the new year greeted me with another story rejected. A story that has been 3 years in the works and while it's still beginning the submission process, the first arrow struck right at the heart. This time I didn't cry (growth!) and I didn't push aside all my papers and watch TV all day (more growth!). I made a pouty face, re-read my year's mantra and sat down to work on my book.
My mantra comes from a battered version of My Utmost for His Highest by ye old Oswald Chambers that I use less as a daily devotional and more as a kind of spiritual horoscope.
That was the one dominating interest all through our Lord's life, and the things He met on the way, joy or sorrow, success or failure, never deterred Him from His purpose. "He steadfastly set His face to go to Jerusalem."Whatever your religious conviction, I hope you take from the passage the core message of commitment. My mantra is simply that writing (not publication or commercial success) will be my dominating interest, despite how I feel or how my writing is received. I will steadfastly set my ass in this chair.
So I blog again. What does that have to do with Christopher Nolan? When I get really depressed about how little I have accomplished, sometimes I imagine meeting the people I admire one day and finding out that they are fans of my work. Maybe for me, it helps to have imaginary people to impress when it's just me and this stupid laptop day in and day out. Why, Mr. Nolan, I'm so flattered that you loved my book and ripped it from the hands of your children and read it in your garage laboratory instead of working on that mind-portal-sixth-dimension-space-western you're writing. And you want to buy the film rights? Well, you'll have to talk to my agent about that.
And that's why I'm wearing a party dress and heels to write this chapter and not my robe and pjs, because imaginary Christopher Nolan believes in me so I must toil and creep to the finish line. Happy delusions, friends. And try to surround yourself with positive imaginary influences. Imaginary Sean Penn is such a downer...
Yours,
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