Writing life

I can be slow at times.

I just realized how much of a writing life I follow.

This week I gave a writing work shop on character develop to a group of beginning writers who were so responsive. I used to give workshops regularly, but hadn't for a while. It was fun preparing the workbooks and sharing what I know. Their responses were often brilliant and always interesting.

As always I am engrossed in the book I am working on, but this time it is a real challenge because it is creative non-fiction, Coat Hangers and Knitting Needles. I wake in the middle of the night, my mind full of lists to check, research and words.

All spring I've been looking at my work that isn't published, editing it to make it stronger (it always can be better) and trying to find a new publisher.

My free writing sessions with a writing mate have fallen off because of her schedule, although a couple of time, I've done it on my own. There's nothing like sitting in a café with a cup of tea or hot chocolate, spying something, anything and writing for ten minutes without stopping. Whenever I do, my other writing is always better. I compare it to pouring water into a pump to get it flowing.

In January I was part of a panel discussion with two other writers at the American Library in Paris and did a reading in Geneva later in the winter.

Maybe it is the feeling that I'm never making the progress I want to that I doubted my writer's life.

I must remember the times I walked to work, plotting what I would write after spending the day earning a living in work that was underwhelming. So...I must celebrate the life I have now and never stop appreciating it.

Yesterday, I was talking with another writer about a project she has with a non writer and an artist to create a story set in the 1800s. It sounds exciting.

Anyone who sees me whinging has my full permission to give me a swift kick.