Burned Out Writer Seeks Muse: Inquire Within.

Last night was the last class for the semester at Women Writing.  I have been enrolled there since the fall of 2007 (a fact I had to look up since Sharon T. isn't in class with me anymore.  We started the same semester and she always kept track of it for me).  6 years and 16 semesters later I have quite a body of work to show for my time and a serious number of the women I met there have become my friends.  Many of my friends have done a semester or a workshop at this place and count themselves among the community.  For the fortunate women of Greater Cincinnati it is a balm against the world, a place to be heard and encouraged no matter your skill level. 

Initially my writing was all short prose pieces like the kind you see out here.  But I get bored staring at my own face so much.  I mean who wouldn't?  Eventually I branched out into poetry and became a passable poet.  Ditto short story.  The one thing that evades me is a novel-length piece of writing.  Oh, I have the idea for one or two.....hundred.  I have even made a couple of forays into writing the first chapters. 

The problem I have encountered is that WWfaC doesn't support that kind of writing (at least not for me, and when I listen closely, most of my classmates interested in this kind of writing have a similar take).  And that SUCKS!  Because I want both.  I want to be able to pursue writing something lengthier AND I want to be able to take it to this supportive environment where it can be as lovingly crafted as my poetry has been. 

For example this semester I had a rockin small group and over the roughly six weeks that we met, I was able to only get through a 12 page short story.  A short story that easily could have grown up to be a book.  The snail's pace of 1-2 pages/week killed all the enthusiasm I had for this project just like it did the last long work I tried to bring in.  And it kinda pissed me off that this WRITING CLASS, seriously killed off my desire to write what I wanted.  And not being able to write what I wanted made me unable to write pretty much anything.  Oh there were some small things that squeaked out when I wasn't pouting.  But this has been the least productive semester I have had in years. I want to stress here that this is not a function of WWfaC or of my small group, it is something inherent to the structure of the class itself.  It favors short length pieces of writing and poetry.  As a consequence, that is what most people bring to class.   

There are some obvious ways around this.  Trust me I have been pondering it a long time.  One would be to send the entire work to my small group and let them read it and then discuss it during my 10-15 minutes of time over a couple of weeks.  But there is something inherently and gut-wrenchingly NO!!! about letting something I have written out of my hands ever again.  (Last time I did that I got fucked over royally to the tune of $8500).  I trust the women in my group, but how do I know who might see this?  Who might have access to that file?  This is my baby, my thought child, my precioussssss.  I have yet to solve this one.  But there are a few neurons that are puzzling still and will continue until my puzzler is sore.

Anyway, after class last night when I got home, for the first time in six years I didn't feel jacked with fire and word fuel to throw on it.  I didn't want to sit and write for a couple hours before I went to bed.  I sat and watched TV - America's Next Top Model and Survivor.  I know.  YIKES right!?!  I wanted to just veg off the dregs of energy from class and brain bubblegum is a good way to do that . 

This is not, I repeat NOT, a reflection of the class or the people in it.  In fact, the people in class the past few years have been pretty awesome across the board.  What it is, is a reflection of where I am.  I am sad and burned out beyond belief.  The process there doesn't enchant me anymore.  Quite the contrary, I found it grueling to make it through the last few weeks and wanted to seriously HURL every time anyone used the following words:  rich, gift, affirmed, held, abundant, and countless others.  Again - reminding folks that this is just me.  It seemed a bit too self-congratulatory for my scorched earth spirit.  Every week I felt I had less and less to give.  But I pulled on my big girl panties and finsihed out - just like I always do.  I know some of my WWfaC friends will read this.  Please don't be hurt by the words.  I'm not talking about you or slamming an organization you love.  I love it too. 

I think last night was scary in how different it felt to the Wednesday evenings I am used to.  I want old Wednesday night feelings to come back.  But right now I want some distance and to find a place that breeds my own fascination, my own inspiration.  I need that.  In every aspect of my life.  I can't rely on the world to provide it for me.  It has to come from me.  It's taken me six years to get to where I am.  I owe every atom of that to WWfaC and to dozens of women who sat in small group with me. 

That said, this summer I am off on a quest looking under stones, pulling down mountains and chasing a dream that is Mary the novelist.