
That picture right there is not of my new writing room. (I forgot to take a picture of that.) That right there is a picture of my new living room. Or what will be my new living room in almost exactly two months. When I move. To London.
Just typing that makes my heart race and my lungs feel awfully inadequate to the job of getting oxygen up to my brain. Let me try it again.
I'm moving. To London. Okay, now give me a minute while I sit with my head between my knees.
We're moving for my husband's job. I am going over on a spousal visa, so for the first time in my life I won't be under any pressure--internal or external--to find a job. Finding a job would be immensely complicated and require a lot of expensive paperwork.
Wait a minute, I hear you saying.
Why the panic? You're going to have a room of your own and nothing to do. Isn't that every writer's dream?Oh, yeah. Which means it's also the end of the excuses.
Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while
know that I am the last Longstocking without a book contract. Or agent. I do, finally, have a decent draft, but it's only decent--not near good enough. My good news is that a couple of agents are happy to read revisions. Compared to my friends' prepping for school visits and working feverishly under deadlines for second and third books, that seems like pretty paltry good news.
For the last nine months, however, I've also had a job I love, teaching seventh-grade English and sixth-grade creative writing. It's difficult and frustrating and leaves no time or energy to write, but it's unbelievably rewarding. I can actually see the kids' writing improving and, in a few cases, their love of books growing. The past nine months have been a welcome relief from years of difficult, frustrating work that never seemed to lead to any kind of result.
So you can see why it might be understating things a bit to say that I have mixed feelings about this new development. On the one hand, I have
really missed writing this year. I've had a lot of great ideas for fixing the manuscript that's not ready yet, and more than a few ideas for new novels. My students have taught me more than I could have imagined about what makes for a book kids want to read, and I'm really excited to put that into practice. And I am dead certain that, while I will miss the kids and I will miss sharing what I love, I will not miss spending my weekends grading (or feeling guilty about not grading).
But on the other hand. Before I got this job, I spent a lot of time beating myself up. I never knew what to tell people when they asked what I did for a living--most of the time I was a secretary, which of course had nothing to do with anything. I've been getting positive feedback on this manuscript since the first time I turned it in to workshop, way back in 2004, but that encouragement has not yet turned into any kind of professional success. I don't want to go back to feeling so bad about that.
I know, intellectually, that publishing is a tricky business and it just takes forever sometimes. But even though I'm looking forward to getting back to work, I'm scared to death that I'll have everything I could possibly need and
it still won't work out. What if I get distracted by museums and gardening and volunteer work, and don't leave myself enough time to write? What if I leave myself so much time to write that I never get around to actually doing it? What if I set up the perfect schedule and the rewrite goes swimmingly, and the book still isn't good enough? And how do I keep from getting so frustrated by the lack of visible progress that I run right out and get another job, expensive paperwork and all, just to have something to talk about at parties?

This is not just borrowing trouble--these are honest questions, based on what I've experienced before. Anyone out there have any good answers, from what
you've experienced?
--Kathryne
Addendum--Unknowingly appropriate advice from the "letter to youself at 25" assignment of one of my 7th-graders: I hope I don't forget that although sometimes things can seem so bad and like problems will never be resolved, they will.". How'd a twelve-year-old get to be so wise???