#thewrongdaughter

Writer’s Block

I was in Iceland last April at The Iceland Writer’s Retreat and a common topic of discussion among the participants was ‘writer’s block.’ I had to keep my mouth shut, (an extremely taxing ordeal for me, not something I can usually master), because well, I don’t get writer’s block. That’s not to say that everything I write is wonderful and worth keeping, it’s not, and I’m quite certain there would…

There was one constant, one thing that has never changed in my chameleon life and that is my love of writing.  I wrote stories for fun and stories that I got paid for.  Never mind that my name had to be changed and they appeared in magazines most people keep hidden at the back of their drawers.  I wrote a journal chronicling my first pregnancy, I wrote articles for my 4-H kids – I wrote.  I wrote a novel only to stick it in the back of my own drawer.  Then, I wrote another, and another, and another, and one more.  Somehow, my constant love of writing took hold like a weed and grew and became a vocation filled with passion and a desire to see my books published.  I began giving the one I have the most faith in to people to read, friends, and strangers.  I found a mentor, an editor; I began signing up for writer’s conferences, and I began to study the business of getting published.  But still, when asked what I do, I would answer that I teach riding lessons, and nothing more.

I was at a party with an eclectic group on the Friday after Thanksgiving when the question “What do you do?” was again asked.  I answered that I teach riding.  My hostess, my student and friend, a feisty woman of sixty three who has traveled the world, worked as an entertainer, beaten breast cancer, and someone who I think of as extraordinary, said “She’s a writer.”  The conversation turned to the plot of the novel I am trying to see the light of publishing.  My friend, a champion of the twisted story I’ve written, feeding the interest, telling the tale.

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