It’s nearly a month since I finished writing and the critiques are coming in. It’s as I’d expected, my readers find things to love and things to loathe. Critique doesn’t equal criticism but my head still struggles with that concept.
I’m human. I’m not alone. I’m sick. Life has gone unexpectedly awry.
Last week I retired from my professional career. Like all change it left me torn, wonder and expectation tussled with emptiness and dare I say it, fear. For so long the role of physiotherapist clothed me. It gave me something, some one to be.
I see myself a s a story teller, my head full of quirky tales amassed over the decades. I want to release them and free myself, creating space for the new to enter. So having written Schicksal, I felt pretty chuffed. Little did I know I stood on the top of the slippery slope.
I had dreams; big ones, bold, at times unrealistic but clear, or so I thought. Easy. I just wanted to be an internationally acclaimed author. Now what’s wrong with that? Dream Big, that’s what all those feel good, new age sites advise, isn’t it?
Everyone has a place of peace. It is somewhere we go when the outside world intrudes and takes over our inner world. The intrusive, disruptive and persistent nature of this unwelcome visitor, rattles us. Stress makes us forgetful, unreliable and short tempered. It is not a place to dwell.
The very real need for time out creeps up on us ever so slowly. Our introspection tells us something is amiss but we fight the reality tooth and nail focussing on the many tasks which keep us chasing our tails. The emotions are frayed but the mind wants action. An egotist without bounds it convinces us of the need to push it through to the end.