What does a writer do with themselves when they are ready to walk away? I am a writer, been ignoring that fact for 30 years. I wrote two books prior to Starburst then promptly tossed them out. I don’t know how to shake “writer” off of me. Most days I’d trade in writer for anything else however "writer” clings to my sides with a death grip.
Lately though the dark cloud of disillusionment is hanging low and occasionally banging me on the forehead. With this dark cloud as my companion for the past week came remarks from my husband who felt the need to inform me of his frustration that at one point my writing was a thing that brought me joy was now causing me nothing but a state of continual grumbling.
Big breath, this post is hard to write. Standing tall and speaking my pain is not any easy thing to do. I’d rather not tell the world that I have no commercial success. I’d rather not tell the world that I spend more time trying to figure out marketing than writing. I’d rather not tell the world that I am failing.
Why is coming out with the truth vastly painful? Perhaps it’s difficult because it’s showing the world your wounds. Here’s the worst part I’m ready to walk away, but can’t. Can’t make myself walk away from something I have wanted not a while, not a couple years, but a lifetime.
To get some perspective on that I’m 45 and I have ignored the writer in me for almost 20 years. So how does one person walk away from the very essence of who they are? Honestly, I’d like to know.
I want to know how to hush up the stories that climb all over my thoughts. I want to know how to tell myself on quiet mornings to not sit and write chapter after chapter. I would love to find out how to take this “writer” toxin out of my system and go about my day.
I am throwing rocks in a dark place. Darkest yet when I consider that old saying I’ve heard tossed around “art is pain.” Is that it? I’m not sure how that saying goes, but to have art in the depth of ones being and to suffer for it, is not a place of comfort or joy.
I have rolled out my emotions all weekend with not one positive conclusion to make. No idea really what to do with all that I feel. I often refer to my books as my babies, as any parent I want to see them thrive and succeed. Like any parent when they don’t it’s a hurt that you carry.
I believe now is a time of contemplation for me. A rest to reach in and make peace with who I am. After the peace will come the choices of what to do with what I am.

Authors note: Interesting how a couple weeks ago when I wrote The girl with the purple lips blog post I felt so determined, however now I feel beaten down.

Carol
caroljamesmarshall.com