Hitting the ground running in 2009

The other day I watched a movie called "Becoming Jane". It looked a bit campy, but it featured Anne Hathaway, who I love, starring as Jane Austen so I thought, why not? Overall the movie was pretty good; that is if you like a love story that doesn't end exactly like a fairy tale. The guy doesn't get the girl, but the girl lives her dream. Witty, sarcastic, outspoken Jane chooses not to marry for money as was the custom in her day. Instead she stays true to herself and "lives by the pen".

I was so inspired as I always am when watching films about writers. I can relate to the struggles and the sacrifices they make to do what they love and make a living off of it. One of my favorite movies about a writer, even a fictitious one, is Little Women. I am always brought to tears when Jo finally sits down to write the infamous book. I get chills hearing the voices of the characters swirling around in the air around her head: palpable, crisp and sweet. My eyes usually don't even have time to dry before I'm pounding away on my laptop or scribbling furiously on the nearest scrap of paper.

However, until recently, I had put my life's breath on hold to face the demanding challenges of motherhood and the first few years of college. Often I went for months without doing any serious writing. I still had the dream, but that extra oomph was missing. There were days I could barely get out of bed (thank God for auto-pilot and coffee beans). Every day I wasn't spending "becoming Rosa The Writer" caused me to die a little bit inside. Sound too dramatic? No drama queen here. It's just that serious to me.

A few months ago, I read a book called "Don't Even Trip". I picked it up randomly at the library because of it's colorful cover. I was surprised to find that it was written by a young woman from Milwaukee named Teresa Rae Butler. On a sheer whim I looked the author's name up on Myspace and I found her. I friend requested her and she added me. I sent her a comment stating my thoughts about her work and added her to my top friends and favorite books section. To my delight and surprise, a few weeks later she commented back in a very personal way. She had actually taken the time to read my info, and, when she saw that I was an aspiring writer, she rained blessings and encouragement on my page.

We began to communicate through Myspace on a semi-regular basis. After I read her second book, I remembered my other long lost love-reading for the sheer joy of it. I began devouring all kinds of books by all kinds of authors. As I knocked each book off one by one, it started coming back to me. I started looking with a writer's eyes. I read multiple books by the same author and found his or her voice. I began dissecting the different writing styles and cringing at the typos. I read books that moved me to tears, made me laugh aloud in a silent room, and books that were cheesy at best, but they all accomplished the same thing. They got me excited about writing again. I was itching for it; keening for it. I knew what I had to do.

I got out my laptop and the words just spilled out of me. My fingers could barely keep up with the outpouring of love; love for my craft, love for my voice and love for myself. I got four pages done before I was called away by my youngest daughter. By the time I came back to it, the spirit was gone, so I put it away and let it sit for a while. Every couple of days I would open it up and tweak it here and there; pouring over it with my critical eyes. Then I got an idea. It was pretty gutsy for shy, little ol' me, but I ran with it. I sent Ms. Butler-Rae a message asking her if she would mind looking at it and giving me her professional opinion. And guess what? She was more than happy to do it.

Not only did she give me tons of great feedback, but she also encouraged me to send her my revisions and new pages as I write them. Oh, yes, and most importantly, she loved my work. She enjoyed my writing style. She could envision the characters I was developing. She believed in me. That means more to me than she could ever know. However, the best thing that came out of all this is that now I believe in myself again. I know that I've still got it. I never lost it. I just forgot to begin.