Thursday, February 23, 2006
Hey I won a writing contest!
$100 for best personal essay. Woo hoo! You can find it online here and they're going to publish the essay this spring. Steve's friend from high school just won a freaking Newbury for her book, which kind of makes my little prize look like doggie crap in comparison. But, really, there wouldn't even have been cause for comparison had the two prizes not been given out at roughly the same time. It *does* bother me that she won a Newbury, though. Not because she doesn't deserve it; she does. She's a fabulous writer. It's just that . . . well . . . I think that part of success is believing that something is *possible.* Steve's friend always made me think that it was *possible* that I'd publish a book someday. I mean, she's about my age. She has a baby boy about my son's age. We live in the same part of Utah. We both have a Master's degree. We write the same kind of fiction. She's just like me--only successful. And I always thought the fact that she'd published a book meant that I might publish a book someday, too. But then when she went and won the freaking Newbury, it occurred to me that, no, maybe she's just an anomaly. Because the Newbury . . . that's HUGE. It's more than even really, really, great writer's can aspire to. (It's the YA equivalent of a Pulitzer or something.) But, anyway. Enough about her and her now-fabulous-career. I won a little writing contest and it made me feel really good.
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2 comments:
This is how I look at it. We'll have maybe 7 or so years of having babies and babies becoming kids and kids going to school. THEN we'll have like 30+ years to have careers. Even if it's only like a 3 hour a day thing (while they're at school). Plus, if you're really talented--like you are--maybe you should pursue writing full-time and get a nanny. I'm totally getting a housekeeper if we ever have the money. I hate cleaning.
I don't know what to say about the Newbury girl. I distance myself from people like that. Overachieving is unappealing.
I try to look at it that way, too. But my problem is that the hours go by SO slowly that by three o'clock every afternoon I want to keel over and die and the thought of five more years of it makes me freakishly depressed.
I would love to have a nanny. They're just so expensive and if I were to get one just so I could write I would feel weird. I've only ever made $200 from writing. That's $200 over five YEARS. If I were to calculate my hourly salary. . . Ugh.
I gave God one of my ultimatums the other day, though, and it worked pretty well. I just had three fabulously happy days. Mostly full of freakish quantities of nesting. Who knew that hormones could make you *like* cleaning.
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