So we’re at the end of the semester and in the course of just three classes I’ve written, revised, and edited a ridiculous amount: 108,000 words for those of you following along at home. Then there was work plus the mass of communications and media work I did advocating for Gabriel’s toe procedure.
It was the kind of time when writing becomes a chore: something I loathe, despise, and seek to avoid at all costs. It breaks my heart because I love to write. Really.
There was one story I was excited to tell though: The Youngest Ventriloquist in the World. She was my great-grandmother Ivy. And that’s been pretty cool.
So in the midst of the massive clustercuss that’s been the last few months, I took on one more thing: Canada Writes ran a competition and the theme was BloodLines, stories from your family tree. I was halfway there; I had my story. The only problem was that they wanted 400-500 words and I had over 1,500. There was editing for length and tone to do – it needed to be less feature journalism and more story-ish.
But I did it. I rewrote it. And submitted it on the bleeding edge of the deadline. It’s not about the competition though – there were hundreds of entries so I have no illusions about placing near the top (let alone winning the $1,000 prize). It was about the process: it was about putting a piece of my writing out there. That’s the single most nerve-wracking part of being a writer (being this writer anyway). But it’s done. And now the whole country can read it. According to the page-views, a few of them have. That’s pretty daunting. But exciting, too. If you’re interested, you’ll find my entry here.