Monday Musings – It wasn’t supposed to be this way!

Monday MusingsIt wasn’t supposed to be this way!

Most of the time, I write during the day.  After the house is emptied of noise, I quickly fill with the sounds of the dishwasher and washing machine.  Then I can settle into my comfy chair and write.

So last night at bedtime, my husband was concerned when he found me curled up in my comfy chair, laptop open, staring moodily into the dark.  He knew that either I had missed a deadline or that I had something on my mind that couldn’t wait until morning.

And since I was staring moodily into the dark, it was easy to guess what was up.

Gently, he asked me what the topic was.  I mumbled a response.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

He was as confused as you are.  So I went on to explain.

“Bubble bursting, heart wrenching, disappointment.”

That’s when he started to laugh.  It wasn’t in a mean way, and I immediately got his point.

I was sitting in the middle of it-wasn’t-supposed-to-be-this-way.  I was surrounded by the results of broken promises, tattered dreams, and the mess that happens when a reality bomb explodes all over your day dream.

After two long years, my remodel qualifies for every variation of “this isn’t what I was expecting” that you can imagine.  And at the moment, my comfy chair is surrounded by remodeling shrapnel.

Two hours later, I was still sitting in the dark, staring moodily into the computer screen.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

When I made a commitment to take my writing seriously, I had dreams.  Like everyone else, my dreams were heavy on publication worthy words flowing easily from my fingers.  In my dreams, I’m always seated at a comfortable desk, surrounded by a perfectly decorated room.   In that fantasy world, my kids are in awe of my mad writing skills and knock respectfully before disrupting my muse.

Go ahead and laugh at me – it’s a pretty ridiculous dream.

The point is when I think about writing, I love it.  But I also neglect to think about the parts that are hard.  I tend to ignore writers block and writing to deadlines.  I completely dismiss the vulnerability I feel when I publish something and the disappointment I feel when my writing falls flat.

I rarely remember how gut-wrenching the process can be.

Writing was supposed to be easy.

When the writing mojo is flowing, I have entire paragraphs written in my head before the fingers ever touch the keyboard.  I’ve spent the normal amount of time dithering over structure and content, but the process takes place in my head.

When I think about writing, I’m always funny.  And safe.  Definitely safe.

But sometimes, it doesn’t work that way.

Sometimes, the words on the screen cut me to my core.

Sometimes, my writing ends up exposing me, leaving me open and vulnerable and defenseless.

Sometimes, I just can’t publish what I write.

Sometimes writing is hard.

As I sat there last night, staring into the dark, I realized I was hitting a wall.  It’s not that I don’t have plenty experience with disappointment or disillusionment.  I have plenty.

But almost every incident I thought of last night didn’t feel like it had an ending yet.  In many cases, I still felt angered or victimized or hurt.  There was no point in sharing a story that didn’t somehow provide encouragement or enlightenment to someone else.  To just share a story that just makes people feel sorry for me doesn’t work for me.  What would be the point?

I realized I couldn’t tell you a story that doesn’t have a happy ending.

I didn’t want to write something that made me sound like a whining, complaining, victim.

And yet, the more I meditated on the topic, the worse my attitude and tone became.  Yuck.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

In the end, I emailed my work well after midnight last night.  Even with my best efforts, I know I missed the deadline and disappointed people.  I hate that.

I crawled in bed completely drained, shaking from exhaustion and with tears rolling down my cheeks.  And then I had insomnia.  It wasn’t even the normal insomnia that comes from middle aged hormones or too much coffee or my husband’s snoring.  It was the other kind – the kind I get when there’s too much on my heart and I’m too upset to sleep.


Sunday night faded to Monday morning, and it isn’t much better.    I watched as the pitch black of my bedroom turned to morning gray and then full blown daylight.  And I still have no answers.  The topic has left me completely gutted and I don’t understand why.

I’m no stranger to writer’s block.  I know that sometimes the words just won’t flow and that everyone runs out of ideas from time to time.  I have ways of working through that, and I accept that it’s just part of what happens.

But this… this isn’t writer’s block.

It’s more like writer’s flood.  It’s what happens to me when there’s suddenly so many words in my head that I can’t figure out what to put on the page first.  Only, all the ideas are jumbled together in way that makes them look big and scary and confusing.  In this case, it’s not even a topic I want to write about (I doubt it will be funny.)

I know from experience that I’ll be miserable until I find the start of all the words.   Once I find the start, the words tumble out in giant blobs.  It will hurt.  I will cry.   (my husband dreads this part of writing, but he understands it isn’t my choice.)  At the end of the flood, I find peace.

Writing was never supposed to be like this.

[author] [author_image timthumb=’on’][/author_image] [author_info]Houston Mom Blogger Susan Baker has a passion for encouraging weary worn out mothers to find joy in everyday motherhood. She has two elementary school boys, one engineering husband, and one cat. She has a strange fascination  for eggs, socks, and books.  She spends far too much time on Social Media and at Target. She is crazy in love with her family.  She serves an amazing God.   She lives an ordinary life filled with wonder. [/author_info] [/author]


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Susan Baker
I have a passion for encouraging weary worn out mothers to find joy in everyday motherhood and peace in unlikely places. I have two elementary school boys, one nerdy husband, and two cats. I have a strange fascination for bad puns, the color pink, socks, and books. I worry about running out of toilet paper, wine, and chocolate.. I serve an amazing God. I live an ordinary life filled with wonder.
Susan Baker
Susan Baker

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