Mother Writes: Dreaming in Lisbon

Wednesday, 13 March 2013

Dreaming in Lisbon

Lisboa

I spent last weekend in the tumbledown rainy sunny city of Lisboa, visiting some old friends. I love this place. The dire economic straits the country is in is palpable but despite this, Lisboans have not lost their sense of alegria. (This is a Spanish & Portuguese word which broadly translates to lightness of spirit).

The whole time I was away, I was feeling pretty excited because last week, for the first time in a VERY, VERY long time, an agent asked to see my full manuscript. I really needed this as a boost to my confidence and to help me believe that my writing is of some merit because, believe me, there are times when I wonder. So while I was away, I was in that wonderful in-between stage of golden hope, knowing that they liked what they'd read so far, and that this could actually be something. Now I'm back in England and the rest of the manuscript has been sent off to them. I sat for a long time at the lap-top, not quite bringing myself to be able to push the 'send' button because that in-between dreaming stage will be lost to me forever. It's a bizarre feeling but once I pressed it, it's out of my hands again and now all I can do is sit tight and wait.

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Mother Writes...What's it all about?

When I was little, I imagined with the supreme confidence of a child that when I was all grown up, I'd be a celebrated writer. And by grown-up, I probably meant about eighteen. The concept of even reaching the age of thirty, let alone beyond, was off my radar and my seven-year old self shuddered at the ominious thought of not having published at least several novels by that grand old age.

Fast forward to the present. Here I am, age thirty-five, wife to a lovely hubby and mother to three gorgeous children. Now, am I writer? My seven-year old self would hold a very strong opinion on this: No, because I don't have a single published novel to my name. But I'm pleased to say that now I'm all grown-up, I'm also a bit more measured and realistic in my expectations of myself. Don't get me wrong - I love my seven-year old self for believing I could achieve that much but I have, over the years, come to an important conclusion:

If you dance, you are a dancer. If you paint, you are a painter. And if you write, you are a writer.

But we have to actually do it, not just talk about doing it. It's all too easy to procrastinate about our creative endeavours and that's all I ask of myself now: to create; to write. And if I'm lucky enough to get something published (which I'm pleased to say that I have done, in the form of short stories, reviews and articles), well, that's a bonus. And that's what this blog offers: little slices of honesty on my plate of life as mother, wife and creator of words. It's often not easy to juggle all three, particularly dealing with bouts of chronic insomnia. But I have to trust this is all part of the journey, and challenges are what make life interesting.