I spent the morning as usual—plugging away at my young-adult fantasy novel, praying I’m not subconsciously mimicking Lord of the Rings, and reminding myself that getting a novel published is like getting a part in a movie: not quite impossible, but almost.
Now that my classes are mainly over for the academic year, I spend a lot of time writing in a nearby coffee shop. The place is full of people clicking away at keyboards and buried in books, and good music is always playing in the background, just loud enough to hear but not loud enough to interfere with your work. They also sell scrumptious muffins there, but I stopped ordering them when I realized I was putting on about a pound a week.
Whether I’m writing at my coffee shop, on my deck, or in my office overlooking the waterfalls in my yard, I love working on my novel. It’s challenging, difficult, sometimes even tedious work, but it’s worth it. It carries me away into a world that is bright with magic, danger, and adventure. My senses come alive in my alternative universe, and I get the chance to see through the eyes of someone who is both me and not-me, the twelve-year-old heroine of my work. In the “real world,” I’m a person who often struggles with negative emotions—remorse and shame and anger, in specific—but not when I’m writing my novel. Then, I’m far too concerned with saving lives and fighting evil and simply being someone else. I sometimes think I could endure anything, as long as I could escape to my Other World.
That is my reflection for the day. Just a moment to think about how lucky I am. How about you?