I had a defining moment last week, a phone call that literally brought me, pragmatism and all, to my knees. Trying to help, which was pretty much impossible, I ended up with a boatload of extra kids, fielding questions I didn't know how to answer. The house is quiet know for the first time since last Tuesday. My kids are enjoying the last week of school (exams and all) and my niece and nephews are back at home. I sit here, in a kitchen of purely beautiful silence, only to find myself harboring a completely different view of the world.
Now don't get all excited . . . I am still pragmatic, snarky and completely obsessed with Cool Mint Cliff Bars. I still drink way to much coffee, stare at twitter in awe wondering why anybody would be interested in a picture of what John Doe bought at the supermarket, and struggle most days to think up blog topics. My goals (and obsessions) are still the same; they've just been realigned. I still want to be published in the traditional sense, and I will continue to push myself to be a better, stronger writer as a result of that goal. I will no longer worry about trends or where my manuscripts lie in that crest. I take a step closer to the edgy line most of my manuscripts walk and not worry about what some might think.
Most importantly, as I tackle the last of my revisions in preparation for submission, I will remember that one bad critique or rejection does not define me as a writer. I will write because I want to, because it brings me a sense of emotional release. That is why I started down this crazy publishing path in the first place, and that is what I am circling back to.