Writing and Digging Holes

I look around my little apartment and think "I did this all alone." I moved EVERYTHING except the big furniture by myself. That can be both validating and sad.

Yesterday I did some planting in my tiny yard. My sweet neighbor, Chrissy, offered to help but she has enough to do - her wedding's in 2 weeks. So I'm slowly digging holes and planting. I dig the hole for the lilac bush a little each day. My back was a bitch last night.

It would be nice to have someone do some of these things for me - nice to hear someone say, "Look what I've done for you, honey." But that ain't happening and if I want something, I'll do it myself.

Recently at a writers meeting, the members were asked about collaborators, who we had, who we used to help us. I immediately flashed on the hole for my lilac bush.

In the beginning of writing for "real", it was Juilene Osborne McKnight - but that was 20 years ago.
I left a critique group because of the way I travel for work - I couldn't make the meetings and no one wanted to email me their work. I got the feeling they were happy to see me go. Because of that I don't trust critique groups.

So I'm writing in a vacuum. I have no mentor, no collaborator. My trust is rusty. I don't have the time to wait for someone to come along and help. The acknowledgments page of my book will have lots of white space.

So I dig my holes alone.
And I write alone and if when my gut tells me it's done, I send it out.