I am not Mary Poppins

mary-poppins-bagI’ve been rather down lately, in both body and spirit. As one heals I try to focus on raising up the other too. Not feeling well in body can dampen low spirits evern further.

It has been really hard to think and focus. Like my brain is so busy trying to steady the spinning world that it doesn’t have room for things like words or holding on to thoughts. I find this incredibly frustrating.

Then a couple of days ago I decided to check my email. My writing ego, which was already beginning to look like a flap jack, took another hit. I got a rejection letter. That isn’t unusual. I get them all the time. However, this letter left about a paragraph of actual honest usable feedback.

Normally I would be really happy about that. Feed back is a good thing. Non-form letters are good things. The problem was that I liked the story I wrote quite a bit. There is nothing wrong with that either, except I came away with the feeling of being exceptionally clever and I let that writing high go straight to my ego.

The story was average but shows promise. I just have yet to develop that promise. You see I learned a few things writing that story and, like a kid who just learned to tie her shoes, I felt like I had mastered the secrets of the universe. Then when these other kids come by and point out that my shoes have come untied, I am humbled and embarrassed. It is hard to swallow that my tying skills/ writting skills are still lacking more practice.

Humble pie, like many things that are good for us, doesn’t taste that great. I am not Mary Poppins. I am not “practically perfect in every way”, though sometimes I think I am. My umbrella doesn’t talk or fly. However, with practice, maybe it will keep off the rain.

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Published by: thecoffeefox

Once upon a time there was a woman who was a writer. She was either cursed or blessed from birth to be so and there was much debate on which it was. One day a very discouraging (and not very original) person told her not to give up her day job. The woman smiled and said that was a wonderful idea. Following the unwittingly clever advice of her critic, the woman found a job working nights, which left her days free to write. Even better, the night job had an unusual schedule which packed two weeks worth of work into one, so the writer was able to have every other week off to sit on her front porch, daydream, and of course write. However, working at night and writing during the day left little time for sleep, so the poor writer occasionally went a little mad, but she decided it was an acceptable price to pay to be able to continue following her curse-blessing. Also she likes tea. :)

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