Reality Versus Writing

Ever had a time during your life when writing (or whatever your artistic passion is) has become incompatible with reality?

It sucked, didn’t it?

I hope that like anything else, this only lasted for a season and that you were able to go back to it.

I went through my “incompatible” period not too long ago.

Two years ago actually.

Hubby was unemployed but in college working towards a formal science degree.  I was the only one working full-time (in the banking industry).  My vision was deteriorating, but I somehow managed to put in over 40 hours each week while suffering from terrible eye strains and painful migraines.  I had a young son, and a house to also take care of.  Whenever I tried to sit down to write, hubby or son always needed me for something.  Or, if I spent “too much time” writing, hubby would complain that my priorities were to my family and job since I wasn’t making any money with writing.

Then, my father became ill with an aggressive lung disease.  I would allot whatever free time I had to spend time with him.

It was during this period of my life when I had to choose between “reality” and writing.

Writing had to be put away.  I felt like I’d lost a piece of myself for doing so; but, still the choice had to be made.

My Dad passed away a short time afterwards.  Hubby graduated from college with honors, and is now working full-time as a federal employee.  And I’m “retired” from the workforce, and am home full-time.

With these now behind me, I have ample time to write again.

 

tough times never last

If you’re going through an “incompatible” period, just remember this quote…

 

 

 

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8 thoughts on “Reality Versus Writing

  1. I can relate to this. I haven’t written my post for this but I’ve had to do this in the past year more often than I would like. I’ve struggled with saying it is okay that I only write my 500 words, which usually sucked. I had to say it is okay that I rested because the words wouldn’t come. I’m learning that the choice between writing and not taking care of my reality isn’t as difficult as I’ve made it in the past.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Define “work.” For that matter, define “reality.”

    Looking back over 45 years of adult life, there was an awful lot of time when I didn’t write–although story was always in my head. I told myself I “didn’t have time”–when I managed to have time for watching a re-run of Star Trek, or watching a hockey game, or playing a video game, or reading some other author’s story.

    What I found out for me is that it’s called “fear.” Self-centered fear. Fear that the boss will fire me. Fear that the Hubby will leave me. Fear that I’ll scar the kids for life. Fear that I might have to eat ramen for a month.

    Somehow I managed to do all those things–break up w/Hubby temporarily, get fired, scar the kids for life, eat ramen for a month–without writing a word of story. Why should I be afraid of writing any more? There’s nothing left to fear– I’ve achieved it all. And yet, writing is still one of the scariest things I do. From a standpoint of pure scariness, I’d rather solo hike all day in rattlesnake infested desert.

    An hour a day. Minimum. For me. Writing or editing or something. Because the story’s in my head, and it WILL torture me until I let it out.

    Liked by 1 person

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