You may have noticed that I have been unreliable lately. There are many blank days with no notes from me. This is what happens to me when 1. I am finishing a manuscript (all last spring) and 2. When I'm waiting for publication (this spring. April 28th to be precise.) During both these times, it's not that I don't have time, or that I don't care-- rather it's some sort of fear that what I have written is not good enough for you. Really. (I'm not fishing for compliments, so please don't fire off a bunch. And I am learning this is all part of the process-- we never measure up in so many ways, do we?)
Last night there were six writers for dinner at my house. I learned that I am not alone in this creative worry, and then this morning I read an essay by Ann Patchett, in which she said shared a thought that I wanted to pass on to you, since it is true of more than writing-- everything really, from parenting and marriage to work and recreation. Plus it is perfect for Lent:
"Forgiveness. The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this because it is the key to making art, and very possibly the key to finding any semblance of happiness in life...I believe more than anything that this grief of constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being writers. Forgiveness, therefore is key."
(Speaking of art and supporting artists-- don't miss tonight's Northern Light Showcase at 7 in the Chilkat Center Lobby. And tomorrow, if you want to comment on the harbor improvements, there is a Ports and Harbor meeting at 4 in the assembly chambers.)
Chip's got the bikes all ready, so now it's time for the first ride of the year. Wish us luck.