The time clicks and I can't find the interview I read on Wednesday. It was with Susanna Kaysen. I identified in two ways that I remember with her in the interview. She has a new book coming out on March 18, Cambridge. Part of me recoils when an author writes about a child not loved. I want to run, having little understanding. Yet, I am a writer and I must have some angst in my soul to write.
Susanna stated that her writing days consist of not writing. I understand that, as I am distracted often in the morning and by the time I settle to write, I seem to have to get ready for work. After reading her answer, I was encouraged to write.
Another statement Ms. Kaysen made was about working a lot of jobs she didn't like. I have to work and most days I get tired of hearing the burden of life. Life of illness, pain and suffering. I can't fix it. Some things can't be fixed. I want to comfort, but sometimes I wish the ones being comforted had a heart for their fellow sufferers. I decided, like fish, three days is enough, then I need a break. I cry out to Jesus often for strength to care for my residents. Yet, I do love what I do. I couldn't imagine working in another job other than nursing, for the biweekly paycheck.
I find I love reading writers' stories of their lives, more than their stories at times. Those books, interviews and movies draw me, as I have stated before. I read a biography of Eudora Welty, I found in a bookstore in Mystic, Connecticut, long before I knew about her or read any of her stories. The compact paperback welcomed me on sale. I dreamed then of being a writer, living a writer's life. I wrote recently about the movie, Saving Mr. Banks, which is coming out on DVD next week, while it is still playing in the three dollar movie theater.
I long for the days I can write alone. My eyes are opened as I do this even part time, professionally. Marketing, promoting yourself, checking stats whittles away the precious time. I console myself with much of what I do is research, creating a mood for me to write. That is truly what happened Wednesday when by the evening I wrote with the plot gelling, molding together. Awe at the wonder of story filled me.
This winter I struggled to hold on to my dream, my focus. Every winter drains me. I live in an area with harsh winters, and dragging springs. Yet, as Cambridge, and being away from it often, shaped Susanna Kaysen, the Dakotas shaped Laura Ingalls Wilder, and New England shaped Stephen King, so my little town, weather and family influenced me. I embrace the life I have.