But by the end of the year, I have this terrible feeling that I have let myself down.
I did not write as much as I would have liked to have written.
I mean, I didn’t blog enough, and I certainly didn’t get that deal with the Huffington Post, and I most definitely didn’t get picked up by O magazine, and I sadly, didn’t even start that book I’ve been meaning to write for fifteen years.
Let’s face it. I basically want to be Elizabeth Gilbert.
I have said to the universe over and over again, “I want to be a writer. I want to be a writer. I want to be a writer.”
The universe has this strange way of responding very literally to requests. There are no “50 Shades of Grey” when the universe responds. What you ask for, you get.
The universe said back to my pleas to be a writer, “Oh, you want to be a writer? Ok, go to grad school and write a bagillion papers. Look. Now, you are a writer.”
When I changed my request, saying, “I really want to read more,” the universe said, “Oh, okay. Here. Go be a high school English teacher! You will be reading for months of your life at a time!”
When I switched again to my thoughts of, “Oh, I really need to write more. I really do want to be a writer…a non-fiction writer!”
Guess what? I consistently thought that the universe was not on my side. I thought I didn’t know what to write.
I have writer’s block. I don’t have time to write. Where am I supposed to get inspiration? Why am I not writing? Why isn’t the universe responding?
Um, but the universe was responding, in the most literal way.
If you know me, you know that my job is writing. Mostly all day, every day. And guess what? It is non-fiction. I am a content writer (and a marketing goddess, among other things). But, all I do is write. All. Day. Long.
I write down stuff all the time. Making lists. Jotting down ideas. Leaving myself random sticky notes everywhere, including my steering wheel. I write letters and notes to my children in journals I have kept for them since they were in utero.
I surround myself with quotes that I find inspirational. I have pictures, art, Buddhas, and quartz all over my desk to help spark an inspiration to write. I even have quotes on my screen at work that are from my head that I find hilarious.
I buy journals and fancy pens with the hope that if I just have this one thing, this really nice stationary, I will want to write more. And often, I do.
Here’s the thing.
What I have learned is that the universe does respond to our request. You just have to be more specific about your request. You also have to be open to the possibility that the universe knows more than you do. You might very well get what you request. But, you might get something bigger, and better, and something you never dreamed possible.
I am, indeed, a writer. What I have never really done is get specific about what I would really like to write because I have not been confident enough to say it aloud and really proclaim it.
Here goes (and I will write in present tense to declare it even more).
I am finishing a children’s book about Loretta and Dave (my first child and my cat that I started when Loretta was born). I am writing two more children’s books (one that is about Cecelia, my second child, and then one book about both girls). Thus, I am writing a trilogy of children’s books.
I have begun writing a non-fiction book about divorce, particularly how it affects childhood spiritual and self development and how adult children continue to be affected throughout their lives.
Asked. And Answered.