I’m long past the time of believing in Santa Claus, but like a few adults, I wish I could believe in the Christmas wish list.
Faith carries the writer through the frustrations of sitting on piles of completed but unpublished manuscripts.
And faith is what is required for believing in the North Pole resident who delivers wishes in exchange for milk and cookies.
If I were to mail off my wish list for writers, it would contain some essentials, including:
* A room of one’s own, or a place to write that is comfortable but also fosters excitement and imagination.
* Time to write in that place.
* Some sort of financial backing that allows for that writing (juggling a full-time job with writing doesn’t open up the space for creativity but limits it to certain hours, likely when the writer is tired, at least for me).
Beyond the essentials of who, what and where, there is the how of being a writer.
A writer, I believe, needs to constantly observe and participate in life, both through being there and a part of things and reading about it.
This gives the writer something to write about, at least from external influences, added to the given internal dialogue, reflections and thoughts.
Studying through reading writers’ magazines, taking classes and attending conferences also adds to what a writer knows about the process.
But what is absolutely essential is that snap-and-pull attraction toward words without which there wouldn’t be anything to who you are. Words and how they sound and feel in the mouth and the ear are the foundation of the passion, at least for me.
The salt is the way I am lifted out of myself into the beauty of letting my fingers trill over a keyboard as I create out of the rhythm of my breath.
Please do not let my frustration break my heart.
I guess that is my only real wish.