Earlier in the day I had read one of those intimidating articles about bright young things who attended the Iowa Writers' Workshop and landed publishing gigs before turning 35. While impressed, I was more depressed than inspired. And then I read a poem my divine aunt sent me as inspiration for my own writing and while I loved the poem I again sunk a little lower in my seat, convinced yet again that I was a fool for even trying.
So tonight, not wanting to pass on this perpetual crisis of confidence, I packed my daughter in the car and took her on a nighttime writing adventure. I ordered her to bring green form, pencil and book. I came armed with laptop, newspaper and book. And as I now write about her writing she is sitting beside me filling in her first writers' workshop application.
It may not be Iowa, but it is fabulous. It is getting the sense that you can do this thing that you love and surrounding yourself with other people who feel the same way.**
"Less popcorn, more writing" I say as the cafe prepares to close.
"I am writing" she says, scratching out a few more sentences.
And so am I.
*Advance apologies to my Apostrophe Bitches. You know who you are and that I love you. I am doing my best but am 100% sure that my apostrophobic ways have led to a 50% success rate in this post.
**My own personal Iowa is in fact found right here in blogland. I am 100% sure I am not the only one who feels this way.