. . . but I am writing.

My so-called professional life is imploding.  All the nicely mapped-out plans have been tossed  like dry leaves on a road side when a truck screams by –

. . . but I am writing.

My publisher delayed my book by another year.  The agent I’m hoping will love my work doesn’t want to look at anything that isn’t a complete novel right now.  The publishing industry is tanking, along with the rest of the economy around the globe –

. . . but I am writing.

A rousing round of writer’s block earlier this year made working on anything creative a struggle. I cried, I cursed, I tried to find that golden vein to mine and it eluded me, until just recently.  I am writing. I have missed it and I have been hopeful that my muse and I would reconnect. We have, and it is a joyful reunion.  One hundred pages of new work sprang out of the months of frustration.  It is a cathartic outpouring of work that feels more like creation than effort.

And then the real world intrudes.

I have returned to my previous place of employment.  I’ll be teaching seven classes next quarter: two sections of Strategies for Success, two sections of Introduction to Humanities, two sections of Composition, one section of Foundations of Writing.  It equals somewhere close to 24 hours of in-class time. That equals somewhere close to another 12 of preparation and grading –

. . . but I am writing.

And I will continue writing, because sometimes I need that more than I need food or sleep.

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2 thoughts on “. . . but I am writing.

  1. drtombibey says:

    Ms. Kim,

    I have to write too, because it helps me to find some sanity in an otherwise crazy world.

    Dr. B

  2. damyanti says:

    Absolutely. Writing is more important than meals or sleep.

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